


Awe and Inspiration

by Accidental_Ducky



Series: Absolution [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Beast AU, F/M, Faeries - Freeform, Gaston gets cursed, M/M, Past Gafou, StanFou, Witches, not quite zombies but he might as well be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11007066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: “I accidentally brought you back from the dead.” Her eyes drop to something lying nearby, Gaston following her stare and spotting a withering rose near his hand. He picks it up, staring at it in confusion. “I was trying to bring that rose back to life and must have spoken one of the words of the incantation wrong.” He inhales sharply at her words, brown eyes widening, the rose’s thorn digging into his palm when he tightens his grip.How was that possible? I couldn’t be dead, I remember everything so clearly.“Welcome to the year 2017, buddy.”





	1. Prologue

                                                                                                   

 

To say Daphne’s eighteenth birthday hadn’t started out as she had planned would be an understatement. In fact, it would be a downright lie to say otherwise and she’d fight anyone that dared to disagree. All she had wanted was to wake up early enough to get out of the crowded home and get a coffee at the local shop. Instead, she woke up late with two kids screaming downstairs and another resting on her stomach.

“Hey, Greg,” she murmurs, mind still hazy from sleep. “What’s up?”

“Ma sent me up here to wake you up,” he says, little hands playing with the frayed edge of Daphne’s blanket. “She said you get to take me to school today since she has to take the twins for a visit with their father.” The teen nods along with the five year old, vaguely remembering that the two kids screaming downstairs were now allowed supervised visitation at the park.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eight.” Dark brown eyes go wide as Daphne shoots up in bed, Greg flying backwards against the mattress with a surprised shout. “Easy, Ducky,” he giggles, rolling over onto his stomach to watch the teen sprint around the cramped room for clean clothes. _Ducky_ was a nickname that her case worker had stuck her with once he’d learned of her small obsession with Daffy Duck cartoons. She used to love the moniker when she was younger, but now it seemed a little childish for someone that had officially aged out of the system.

Deciding on a pair of shorts and a gray tank top, she makes her way to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her so that no one barged in. Living in a house with only one bathroom and three other kids wasn’t an ideal arrangement, but she’s had worse and knew a few tricks to deal with things. Unfortunately, those tricks didn’t really work when she was late for school.

Had anyone been watching her that morning, they probably would’ve laughed their asses off as the teen attempted to dress in a room barely larger than a broom closet, whacking her shin almost repeatedly against the toilet. Once the clothes were on, she makes quick work of brushing her teeth, grabbing her hairbrush on the way out.

“I put your phone in here,” Greg says, the sudden appearance of the little boy just outside the bathroom door making Daphne have to bite back a scream. He holds up her purse, grinning a little when she snatches it from him and shoves her brush inside. “You look funny, Ducky.”

“Thanks, Greg,” she replies with a dry smile,” I love you, too.” He giggles, taking her hand and letting her lead them down the stairs to the front door. He was already dressed for the day, shouldering his Spiderman backpack as she shoved her feet into a pair of thick-heeled ankle boots. “We’re leavin’,” she shouts towards the back bedroom. All she gets in response is the high whine of the twins and a frustrated grunting from her foster mom, so she shrugs and opens the front door.

“She’s in a bad mood this morning since we all overslept.” Greg shrugs a thin shoulder, walking outside with Daphne following after him. The pair make their way over to Daphne’s bike, Greg resting comfortably on the narrow seat with his arms wrapped tightly around the teen’s waist and his cheek pressed against her back.

“I’m not exactly ready to sing Kumbaya.”

“You never are.” That was a fair point, his matter-of-fact tone making her smile in spite of herself. “Ma said I could walk home by myself after school so you can go out and celebrate your birthday.” That would be nice if there was anything in the small Nevada town to do aside from stealing things from the convenience store. “You’ll still come home, right?”

“I will tonight.” She wanted to drop it there, knowing Greg’s mother couldn’t handle four kids while only getting paid for two of them. She was nice, but she was also too young to be a good parent and too broke to afford babysitters. She feels Greg nuzzle his cheek against her back, fighting back the urge to pull off the road and hug him for hours. He was your typically annoying brat, but he was _her_ typically annoying brat and she would miss him no matter what happens.

“I love you, Ducky.”

“I know, munchkin.” They were quiet for the rest of the way, the school only three minutes from the crowded house. Other kids were still milling around outside, looking like zombies as they shuffled across campus to beat the first bell rush to lockers in the high school building. Greg slides off the back so that Daphne can get off as well, settling her bike in her assigned slot. “Have a good day and learn a bunch of stuff, okay?”

“I always do unlike you.” She snorts, ruffling his short hair and watching as he starts towards the elementary building, pausing in the doorway to wave at her. It was strange, but she waves back and waits until he’s disappeared into the building before turning and making her way across the empty basketball court and campus towards the high school.

She had barely stepped inside when the first bell rings, quickly jumping out of the way to avoid the rush of last minute sprinters. They were mostly freshmen, new to the strict tardy rules of their new teachers and the principal that was rumored to eat little children with his morning toast.

Daphne believed it, too.

Once the crowd thinned out, she makes her way down the hallway and over to her locker, spotting a woman leaning against it. The woman was tall and beautiful for a woman in her mid-forties, blonde hair done up in a messy braid that hung over her shoulder, dressed up in a pencil skirt and a silk blouse that were both a bright white color. Aggie Étrange was the school’s guidance counselor and had been hounding Daphne about what she’d be doing after she graduated, often pulling her aside during her free period in order to give her some help with the harder classes she was taking.

“Miss Étrange,” she starts, already feeling exhausted. Aggie seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of energy and Daphne was half-certain that she had a supply of Crack in the drawer of her desk,” I can explain. My alarm didn’t go off in time and then my foster brother—”

“I’m not here to jump you about your tardiness this time, Miss Moreau,” Aggie cuts her off with a gentle smile. “In fact, I’m here to talk to you about something you might have noticed lately.” For a moment, Daphne thought she was talking about the way Principal Arnold’s wallet was always poking out of his jacket pocket, practically whispering ‘ _take me, take me_ ’ like the sweets in Alice in Wonderland. Part of her, though, the part of her from childhood, whispered about the little things she’d been noticing out of the corner of her eye; silver sparks dancing just out of sight, the flutter of wings that weren’t real, and the way she heard voices sometimes when she went into the woods.

“I… I don’t know what you mean.” Aggie raised one of her brows and Daphne was certain they could put that image under the word _disbelief_ in the dictionary and everyone would understand it immediately. “Look, Miss Étrange, I’ve got to get to my first hour before Mr. Coleman decides to use me in an example of how a guillotine works.”

“I’ve already talked to him and told him and he allowed your absence as long as you promise to stop quoting Britney Spears songs in your essays.” Aggie pauses a moment, sending her a look of concern. “Do you really do that or was he being dramatic?”

“I can’t help it, I usually have her songs playing when I’m doing homework.” Aggie nods once, shaking her head as she loops an arm through Daphne’s. “Plus, I like the way the vein in his forehead throbs when he gets to the quotes from her earlier stuff.”

“Five bucks says that thing pops in two weeks.” Daphne lets out a surprised laugh at that, glancing over at the woman in a new light. Everyone knew that Aggie Étrange was pretty cool where adults are concerned, but Daphne would never have pegged her as gossiping about teachers with the students. _I guess you really do learn new things every day_. She smiles a little as she allows Aggie to lead her through the halls, taking her arm back once they were in the cozy little office.

“So, what exactly am I supposed to have noticed?” Aggie gives her a mysterious smile, the type that belonged on actresses in the movies and not on the bright red lips of guidance counselors. Instead of answering, Aggie takes a key from the pencil holder on her desk, using it to unlock that elusive drawer. It was strange, that drawer having been a mystery to Daphne ever since Aggie came to work here two years ago, no one able to break it open no matter how hard they tried.

_What would be in there_ , Daphne wonders silently, craning her neck in hopes that she’d get a glimpse. _Drugs, booze, some kind of top secret weapon that forces kids to do their work without complaint?_ The rumors had circled around the school, new add-ons each week about what was hidden away. Daphne could usually tune it all out, but even she was curious after her lock picks had failed to get the bottom, left-hand drawer to slide open.

And now Aggie was opening it herself and Daphne was just far enough away that she couldn’t peek inside. No one would believe her if she left right now, that the drawer had been opened by Aggie’s own hand in front of a student. _Maybe she really is some kind of crazed serial killer that killed students, took a trophy, and moved on_.

All the thoughts passed through Daphne’s mind in the space of seconds, her heartbeat speeding up and seeming to leap into her throat. Her brain was screaming at her to run as far and fast as she could because whatever was in that drawer was nothing good, but her body wasn’t cooperating as she stood rooted to the spot with her nails biting into the sensitive flesh of her palms.

“Here we are,” Aggie says with that same actor’s smile. It was practiced, Daphne realized, she’s worn this same smile a lot in her life and now it was all she knew. Daphne had one too, given to prospective parents that she’d mastered over the years in the system. All it was good for now was getting free pudding from the lunch ladies.

“Look,” Daphne starts nervously, trying to force her body to move,” I really don’t…” But she trailed off when she saw what Aggie held in her hand. It was a book, just slightly bigger than her palm, bound with black leather with a little silver clasp in the side to keep the thing closed. There were no elaborate decorations or a title printed on the front of it, just the smooth leather that creaked as Aggie held it out towards her.

“Go ahead, it won’t bite.” It took a second or two for Daphne to realize she was meant to take it, having to force her hands to uncurl. She could feel the burn from where her nails had dug in, but she ignored the crescent shapes as she took the proffered book and looked down at it. There was nothing fancy about it, no engravings in the leather or anything to suggest what kind of book it was or where it had come from. “Do you know what that is, Daphne?”

“No, Miss Étrange.” But that childish part of her hissed at her, _liar, liar, pants on fire! You know what it is, you just don’t want to admit it!_ And she didn’t, she’d rather swallow hot coals than say it out loud. It was a lie that the child in her wanted to believe in, something that wasn’t algebra or the literature she sometimes had a hard time understanding unless she forced herself to really concentrate on it. Daphne chances a look up, catching the intense gaze Aggie was giving her, blue eyes burning like there was some kind of fire behind them.

“So you haven’t seen the sprites dancing at night or the Fair Folk singing in the woods? Haven’t noticed the silver sparks?” Daphne’s breath hitches in her throat, like something had blocked the airway as Aggie continued to speak. This wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right. “That silver is the Veil, Daphne.”

“Veil,” Daphne repeats, voice high and reedy,” like death? Oh, my God, I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“No, of course not!” Aggie comes around the desk and attempts to pat her shoulder, but Daphne was stumbling backwards until her back hit the filing cabinet. She could feel the metal handles pressing along her spine, the pain sharp cold through her tank top. “Think of life as two sides of the same coin, this world of humans is one side and the world of magic is on the other. That’s what the Veil is, the shiny side of a quarter.”

“Lady, you’re nuts.”

“I’ve been called worse. Daphne, I’d love to tell you that you’re special and this doesn’t happen every day, but I’ve prided myself on not lying to my students. Granted, most of them are born on the right side of the coin, but your parents were stubborn people and wanted you raised like the normal humans. Not,” she adds hastily,” that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Okay, yeah….” Daphne inches towards the door, not taking her eyes off the nutcase in front of her. “You just stay here and do whatever it is that you’re paid for and I’ll just get back to class.” She turned quickly, ready to sprint out of the office and right down the hall to the Principal’s office, but the door slammed shut right in front of her face. “What the shit?!”

“This is your grimoire, it’ll help you out when I get you where you need to be.” She tenses when she feels Aggie’s touch, yanking away as though she’d been burnt. “Here, you’ll need this as well.” The blonde pulls a rose seemingly out of thin air, a pitiful thing with blackening petals and sagging stem. Aggie carefully slips the stem between Daphne’s thumb and the book. “I really hope your French has improved because you’re going to need it.”

“What are you…” A bright flash makes Daphne flinch away, bringing her free arm up to cover her eyes. When she lowers it again and blinks away the black shapes dotting her vision, she realizes that she’s no longer in the air-conditioned office or even in Nevada. She looks around, taking in the bright sunlight overhead and the crowded streets, the almost sour-sweet smell of fresh bread.

She didn’t really put the pieces together at first, in a state of complete shock as she looked around her and attempted to understand what had happened. Wherever she was, it lacked the dry heat of Nevada so close to summer, the harsh sunlight that was more punishing than pleasant. In fact, it wasn’t until she heard the conversation of a passing couple that she realized she’d been taken to a small town in France.

“Motherfucker.”


	2. A Mix-Up in Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston wakes up two hundred years after his fall only to be insulted by a teenager.

[Daphne](https://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/mybabysittersavampire/images/5/55/VanessaMorgan.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/250?cb=20120627215324) 

Consciousness was a weird thing after so many years spent in an oppressive darkness, a prickling sensation here, tingling there. Sometimes there were lights, fractured and colorful like stained glass that had been dropped against cobblestones far below, glittering and too bright for his eyes. He could hear pieces of mangled French and an atrocious accent, interspersed with some English, though he only had a vague understanding of that.

Slowly he was able to wiggle his fingers the slightest bit, the feeling almost too much after how stationary he’d been. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he wasn’t going to question it as he felt warmth on his face and could hear birds twittering as they flew overhead.

A surprised gasp had him forcing his eyes to open, squinting in the sunlight to see a young girl standing a few feet away. It took him a few blinks to get the blurriness to leave him, but then he could make out black hair and an oval face that still had traces of fat in the cheeks to suggest she wasn’t fully grown.

“Wh-where,” he struggles to get out, throat sore and voice hoarse from disuse. “Where am I?” The girl doesn’t say anything, mouth opening and closing a few times as she attempted to talk. She looked like she was having trouble comprehending something incredibly complex. _Is she simple? Too stunned by my presence to string a sentence together?_ It was possible, he tended to have that effect on women.

“Holy hell in a handbasket,” she finally manages. She shakes her head a little, kneeling beside him and pressing one finger against his cheek in a curious poke. “How’s that even possible?” Her brows furrow and she stretches over him to grab a book, the writing in it foreign to his eyes.

“Where am I,” he asks again. His voice was stronger this time, holding the demanding tone he was well-known for by everyone in the village. The girl just holds up a finger, expecting him to wait while she attempted to read the chicken scratch in her book. Those things had never done Gaston any good, the last woman obsessed with the things being ensnared by a beast.

He shoots upright when he remembers what had happened, looking around to see if he could spot the beast or even Belle, but things were different. He was in some sort of meadow with no snow or stone parapets to be found, no hideous creatures or beautiful maidens, just a peasant girl that didn’t seem too bright.

Gaston furrows his brows, sitting up with a wince and leaning his back against the thick trunk of a tree. There seemed to be grasslands for miles all around, colorful flowers breaking up the green of the grass and a few trees scattered throughout. He wasn’t sure how he came to be here or why he was covered in dirt, but he _did_ know he wanted answers and he wanted them _now_.

“Girl, I asked you where I am,” he growls, turning his best glare on her. She looks up from her book at his tone, looking utterly unimpressed with the display.

“You’re in France,” she answers,” now shut up so I can focus.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“An asshole?”

“What!?”

“I’m sorry, an enormous asshole.” The disrespect was jolting after years of being surrounded by villagers that offered him nothing but praise. “How did I get this wrong?”

“Get what wrong? What’s happened to me?” She finally sets the damn book aside and looks him right in the eye, gaze almost frighteningly intense. There was a focus about her, a razor-sharp edge to that stare that made Gaston’s mouth go dry. It was gone a moment later, the girl paling and looking sick to her stomach; the crackling air around them calming and allowing a breeze to rush in and fill the space.

“I accidentally brought you back from the dead.” Her eyes drop to something lying nearby, Gaston following her stare and spotting a withering rose near his hand. He picks it up, staring at it in confusion. “I was trying to bring that rose back to life and must have spoken one of the words of the incantation wrong.” He inhales sharply at her words, brown eyes widening, the rose’s thorn digging into his palm when he tightens his grip.

_How was that possible? I couldn’t be dead, I remember everything so clearly._

“Welcome to the year 2017, buddy.”


	3. Shopping Trips With Zombies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston finds that modern society isn't to his liking, especially a certain teenager that doesn't take any of his shit.

“2017,” Gaston repeats, feeling lost as he took another look around him. Things were different, the air not as fresh as he remembered and the grass no longer a rich emerald green. “Are you lying to me?”

“Why would I lie about that, but tell the truth about accidentally bringing you back to life,” the girl asks, incredulous. He looks at her again, taking in the strange clothing she wore; a black tunic with striped sleeves, faded green breeches that have been cut short with two suspenders hanging from the sides, and black shoes with white strings keeping them on her feet. All that aside, rings were glittering on her fingers, so she couldn’t have been a simple peasant.

“Are you a nobleman’s daughter?” He nods towards her hands and she raises them, showing him the three gold and black rings on the left hand and a gold one in the shape of a curling snake on the right.

“Not likely, dude. What about you? Were you someone important?” He looks to his own clothes now, the red military jacket torn at the shoulder from where it had snagged on a gargoyle during that horrible fall, his dirt-smeared breeches, and bloodied shirt beneath it all.

“I helped during a war and earned prestige in my village, but I wasn’t nobility.” His brown eyes find hers, looking for any sign that she was joking. How could he have been dead for two hundred and six years? How could he be _back?_ Just thinking of it made his head begin to throb, so he focused instead on the rose in his hand. It was a brown, wilting thing that looked as though it had gone through the same hell as the man who held it. “What do I do now?”

“How should I know? I can’t even bring a freaking rose back to life.” He arches a brow, throwing the rose away from him. “Easy, that flower didn’t do anything to you.” She picks it up, careful to avoid the sharp thorns, and tucks it carefully into her satchel. “What was the name of your village?”

“A small place called Villeneuve.” She snorts, covering her mouth as she tried to fight back a laugh. Gaston didn’t see what she would find so funny about the name and he didn’t have the patience to wait either.

“What’s so damnably funny to you, girl?”

“First of all, my name is Daphne, not _girl_. You can either learn that or I can put your ass back under the ground. Second of all, you don’t get to act all high and mighty with me because I won’t stand for it.” Gaston grinds his teeth as his anger builds, but he closes his eyes for a minute and remembers fighting in the revolution, slowly calming down again. “Lastly, your village isn’t tiny anymore and you’ll probably run into a pole when you see it, it’s funny.”

“Do you know where it is or don’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s about eight days from here on foot.”

“Then find me a horse and I’ll make it home in seven days.”

“ _Or_ we could just take my car and I can get you there in five.” She gets to her feet and wipes the dirt off her legs, the skin bare and the same brown as the rest of her. “C’mon, I’ll get you in some clean clothes and some food in your belly.”

“Why should I trust you to help me dress when you can’t even clothe yourself? You should be ashamed to be walking around like that.”

“Comments like that are why you’re not married.” 

“I’m not married because the woman I loved decided she’d rather live out her days with a beast.”

“Yeah, I wonder why that is.”

“Your French is terrible,” he shoots back, frowning as he clambered to his feet. It wasn’t an easy affair, the prickling sensation in his legs was growing more noticeable and the numbness wasn’t entirely gone either. It left him in the awkward position of either leaning against the tree and wasting more time or leaning against the girl as they crossed the meadow.

“And you smell funny, but do you see me complaining? Just be happy that I’m nicer than Victor Frankenstein.” He has no idea who that person is, but he doesn’t feel like talking back to her. She doesn’t complain too loudly when he wraps an arm around her shoulders, wrapping one around his waist before starting off in the right direction. “How do you feel? Any weird tingling sensations in your anus or…?”

“That’s not appropriate to discuss with someone your age.”

“I’m eighteen, you know.”

“I don’t care, you know.” She was far too young to be traveling alone, too small even if she did know magic. _Obviously she isn’t very good with magic if she brought me back to life instead of a flower_. It wasn’t an encouraging thought, but he supposed it was better than being dead.

“Look, I just want to make sure you won’t go into a seizure or something. The last thing I need is you flailing around in my car.” There was that word again, _car_. What the hell is a car? That answer became clear to him as they crested a hill, spotting a… A _thing_ beside a wide path, white in color and shining like armor in the sunlight.

“What is that thing?”

“It’s what people use to get around these days.”

“No more horses?”

“There’s still horses, but people mainly view them as pets instead of transportation.” She shrugs, though it’s difficult under his weight. “Cars are way faster, so we’ll get to the nearby village in about twenty minutes. I have to warn you, though, the village only has one diner, a few houses, an inn, and a little clothing store.”

“What’s a diner?”

“A place you can go to eat and drink with friends.”

“A tavern, you mean?”

“Yeah, like a tavern.” They lapse into silence as they start down the hill, Gaston able to fully support himself by the time they reached the car. It wasn’t as high as his old stallion, but it reached his midsection and looked even stranger up close. “Here, you just pull up on the handle and pull the door open.” She demonstrates as she speaks, opening the door for him to reveal white seats and other strange things inside.

“Is this more of your magic, girl?”

“No, almost everyone has one of these things.” He gets in, watching as she moved around the front of the car and got in on the side with a wheel that was even bigger than his biceps. “You okay?”

“Of course.” He answered too fast and he knew that, but he’d be damned before he was caught discussing his feelings with someone that wasn’t LeFou. The shorter man had been Gaston’s confidante for years, the only person Gaston could really trust not to abandon him if he wasn’t absolutely perfect every day. It was a ridiculous fear considering how wonderful Gaston is, but it was nice nonetheless.

“If you say so.” She turns a key in a slot near the wheel, Gaston nearly jumping out of his skin when the car roars to life. He could feel it vibrating right down into his bones, his hands scrambling to find purchase on anything and ending up on the door handle and one of the girl’s arms. “Chill out, dude, that just means it’s working.”

“This isn’t normal, this is wrong!” He barely hears a soft sigh, but then she’s worked her arm free from his bruising grip and is wrapping both of them around him. He’d probably feel embarrassed about it later, but he leaned into her touch, taking comfort in the warmth and rhythm of her breathing. The girl doesn’t say anything, just holds him and waits until he’s relaxed against her. “You can let go now, girl.”

“You’re, like, super warm for a man that was dead two minutes ago.” She pulls back and looks up at him, head tilted to the left. “You’re also super dirty, so let’s get you those clean clothes.” She pulls something across her chest and the metal end of it clicks into place into some sort of holder near her right hip. “This is called a seatbelt, you have to put it on just like I did to keep from being thrown in jail.” Gaston copies her movement, feeling the belt tighten against his broad chest.

“Where are we in France?”

“I’m not sure.” His brows meet his hairline as he looks to her, the teenager giving a shrug. “I can speak French well enough, but I suck at reading it. Mainly, I just drive until I find something useful.”

“Useful?”

“Yeah, food or gas for the car, stuff like that.” Her foot presses something and the car inches onto the path, slowly gaining speed until they came to a stop in front of another path that looked to be covered in hardened tar. Other cars were passing at an alarming speed, Gaston wondering how it was possible for anything to move that fast when suddenly they were moving right along with the others, the girl merging effortlessly.

“Must you really go so fast, girl?”

“Call me that about one more time and I’ll break your nose.”

* * *

The nearby village was as tiny as Daphne had said it was, a few children sitting around a small fountain in the town square and playing with little toys. There were shops set up on either side of the street, Daphne parking the car in front of the lone clothing boutique and cutting the ignition. “Come on,” she says as she gets out, her passenger following suit quickly. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he hated the car. It might have something to do with the fact that he was too large to fit comfortably, but there was also the idea that it was all black magic that made the thing run. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Gaston,” he answers, looking around in wonder and suspicion. “Where does the tailor work?”

“Right here, but it’s a bit different than it was in your day.” She leads the way inside the store, heading straight for the men’s section and beginning the browse the larger sizes that would fit his large muscles. “What kind of style do you like?” She turns to look at him, finding Gaston staring around him cautiously. “What is it?”

“Where is that music coming from?”

“The speakers. It’s not very great, but it’s not as bad as some songs I’ve heard.” That’s when it dawns on her, he wouldn’t know anything about speakers or why music seemed to be conjured out of nowhere. “Speakers are these little boxes capable of making things sound louder and the music is being played inside them.”

“This world has changed so much.”

“Yeah, that tends to happen. Come on, the lady behind the counter is giving us weird looks.” She tugs on one large bicep and he allows himself to be pulled away from one of the display cases. Gaston tries to take in everything as Daphne begins sorting through clothes, occasionally looking back to her when she holds a shirt up against him or asks about color schemes.

“I quite like reds and browns,” he says after a bit.

“Comfortable or stylish?”

“Can I not have both?” Daphne shrugs, doing her best to find clothes that would help him blend in better than the threadbare ones he wore. She’d have to do something about his hair as well, the long strands caked with dirt and knotted up in unruly tangles. Eventually she builds up a small pile that would last the five days needed to reach his village, folding them neatly in her arms before turning to face him.

“You see that lady at the front counter?” He turns his gaze to the other woman, pretty for someone in her mid-forties with graying hair and clear green eyes. “Go and flirt with her for me.”

“What, why?”

“Just do it, please.” He didn’t seem happy, but he walks over to the counter all the same, putting on what Daphne assumes to be his most charming smile. Just as she figured, the lady was completely enthralled by the handsome man showing her attention, keeping her distracted enough that Daphne can cross over to the changing room without being caught.

She closes the stall door behind her, digging around in her purse for the small book she’s been carrying around for nearly two weeks now. It was covered in black leather, the silver lock on the side popping open by itself and allowing her to open the cover. Inside is covered in a spidery handwriting that didn’t belong to her, the words on the page quickly forming small runes that were easier on her eyes.

“Please work this time,” she murmurs, setting the clothes down and holding her hand over them. Nervous butterflies fluttering around in her stomach, she begins to recite the spell from her book, keeping her voice low as the ancient Greek leaves her mouth. It wasn’t an easy language to speak, but she was getting better and she could see a faint purple glow surrounding the pile of clothes until there was a small flash and a simple necklace was left on the bench. She grabs it up quickly and shoves it in her purse before leaving the stall again, walking over to where Gaston was still flirting away. She had to give it to him, he really had some kind of gift if he could look like a zombie and still get someone’s phone number. “Uncle Gaston,” she says, putting a hand on his arm,” are you ready to leave?” He shoots her a confused stare, but nods in return all the same. For all he knew, addressing people so familiarly was normal and he would wait to question it until they were back in the car.

“Of course,” he nods, then turns back to the cashier. “It was lovely meeting you, April.”

“You, too,” the woman practically purrs. Daphne has to bite back a laugh, tugging on the edge of Gaston’s shirt until he follows her back outside. The weather was actually cooperating today, the breeze keeping the sunshine from baking her alive and the clouds lazily drifting through the sky.

“Where are my clothes?”

“In my bag.”

“How’d they fit?” She doesn’t answer right away, getting in the driver’s seat and waiting for Gaston to follow. He looked hesitant to get back in the car, like it was some kind of monster that was going to swallow him whole if he got too close. Of course, his pride wouldn’t let him back down considering a teenager wasn’t afraid, so he reluctantly got in and buckled his seatbelt.

“I used my magic on the clothes so I could sneak them out easier.” She pulls the necklace out and drops it in his lap. It was a simple thing, just a silver arrowhead hanging from a chain of dark metal. “I’ll change it back when I get us a room at an inn.”

“Aren’t you supposed to pay for clothing or has that changed as well?” When she doesn’t answer, he arches a brow and gives her a stern look. In all honestly, he looked a bit like a parent that just caught their child sneaking out of the house. “That’s called stealing, you know.”

“It’s also pretty tame considering what else I’ve done today.”

“I take it that you don’t usually bring people back from the dead?”

“Nope, you’re the first, big guy.” She buckles her seatbelt and starts the car again, tossing her purse in the backseat. Like before, Gaston instinctively reaches out and grabs her arm in a tight grip, jaw clenched and the muscles there rippling just beneath the skin. She felt bad for him, he didn’t ask to be brought back to life and all the new developments must be freaking terrifying to a guy that’s more used to slow country life. “How about some music?”

“You can play an instrument _and_ control this beast?”

“N-no, it’s— You know what, just sit back and relax.” She maneuvers her arm out of his grasp and flicks on the radio, quickly switching it over to the mix CD she’d stolen from a foster home. It was a mixture of country and pop, all in English and probably just white noise for him.

“Magic?”

“Technology.” He looked unconvinced, but the background noise of guitars seemed to make him less tense. Slowly, his muscles relaxed and he could sit a little less rigid, though he still had a hard grasp on the handle fixed above the door. Daphne wasn’t entirely sure what the right name was, but her old foster dad used to call it the Jesus handle since the only time he grabbed it was while yelling _sweet Jesus, slow down_.

“How is it possible to have music in the car?”

“Uh…. Someone way smarter than me figured it all out. Sorry that I’m not much help.”

“You’re a girl, I didn’t expect you to be helpful.”

“Another example of why you’ll probably die alone, Gaston.”

* * *

The best thing about the town being so small, Gaston quickly decided, was that he didn’t have to get in that _car_ thing too often. He much preferred walking along what Daphne had called a sidewalk, looking around him at all the people in their strange clothing. The women, like Daphne, wore distressingly little while the men wore the stiff uncomfortable things called jeans. Gaston didn’t like them, they weren’t really tight enough like his breeches nor did they offer the same amount of support. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Daphne from throwing his soiled clothes—all apart from his jacket—in the nearest trash bin.

Needless to say, Gaston was not a happy man.

They’d stopped at the inn once they got a week’s worth of clothing for him, allowing him to wash his face and change into the modern clothes before leaving again. She had to assure him a few times that the paper she handed over worked as well as the currency he remembered, but he always expected to be chased down by an angry clerk.

“Here we go,” Daphne says, drawing him out of his thoughts. He looks to the building she had stopped in front of, taking in the harsh lights and the white writing on the glass windows. He couldn’t really make it out, never fond of reading, and so shot her a questioning look. “It’s a convenience store.”

“What’s the purpose of it,” he asks, arching a brow.

“You get crappy food for a reasonable price.”

“Why don’t we go find a tavern and have a real meal? I’m starving.”

“I can’t afford something fancy right now. Just come on already.” She grabs his wrist and pulls him along with her, Gaston unaccustomed to anyone, let alone a _girl_ , treating him like this. Sure, she could be kind when she wanted to be, but she was also fond of telling him off and he didn’t much like that. In his time, women were expected to keep their mouths shut unless spoken to, but things have really changed in the last two hundred years.

“Can we at least get some eggs here?”

“Only if you cook them.”

“You’re the girl here, you should cook them.” She gave him a look, the same look she’d given him almost every five minutes since he was brought back to life, it suggested that he was the biggest idiot in France and should keep his mouth shut. He didn’t like that either.

“Boy, you and I are gonna go rounds if you don’t pull your head out of your ass.”

“I’m a _man_ ,” Gaston snaps, following after her towards several aisles of shelving,” and my head has never been anywhere near my ass. I’m fairly certain that’s not even possible, so there.” She rolls her eyes, grabbing a small basket made of a material that was painted a dark blue and looked to be made of a metal-like substance. _What had she called it before? Ah, yes, plastic_. Gaston didn’t much care for plastic either, it was flimsy in his hands and she had hit him for breaking her comb.

“Do you like chocolate?” The question took him by surprise and he focuses back on Daphne, finding her already staring up at him with an impatient arch to her brows.

“Yes, I can stomach it from time to time.”

“Awesome.” She grabbed a few things wrapped in brown paper off a shelf, setting them in the basket before moving on. They walked through the store for a few more minutes, Gaston watching on as she adds a few more things to the basket until it was nearly full. Afterwards, she walked up to a low counter and set the basket there, a young man behind it taking all the food out and running it over some sort of beeping device before setting the items carefully in bags. _Plastic again_ , Gaston notes. _Why so much plastic now?_

His thoughts drift off as he looks around them, taking in the few people actually browsing the shelves, one of them an old woman wearing a knitted tunic with the ugliest picture of a cat on it that Gaston has ever seen. Why anyone would risk leaving their house wearing something like that was completely beyond him, but fashion was a strange thing in this age. Perhaps that was common and even expected of old spinsters?

“Hey, macho man,” Daphne says loudly, snapping her fingers an inch away from his nose. He jerks back on instinct, swatting at her hand with a frown. “You comin’ or not?”

“Snap in my face one more time and I’ll take you over my knee, girl.” She scoffs, looking up at him with an expression that did nothing for his rising dislike of her. She wasn’t even worried that he’d carry through with his threat, only thrusting one of the plastic bags into his hands.

“Good luck with that, bucko.”


	4. Bathing and Rocket Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston has his first Capri-Sun and Daphne shows him how to work the shower.

Daphne disappears into the bathroom when they return to the inn, leaving Gaston to putter around the room while she showered and changed into her pajamas. For a moment as the warm water cascaded over her, she was allowed an instant of peace where she didn’t have to think of the zombie waiting for her on the other side of the thin wall. If she closed her eyes, she could even pretend that she was back in Nevada and Greg would be waiting on her bed to talk to her before going to sleep.

“Hurry up,” Gaston shouts, shattering the illusion she was clinging to,” I’m starving!” Rolling her eyes, Daphne quickly leaves the warm spray and dries off quickly. She pulls her hair back into a messy bun that would keep it off her neck, pulling on her pajama top and a pair of cotton shorts. “Girl!”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she shouts back, pushing the bathroom door open,” I’m coming.” Gaston was sprawled across one of the beds, his ratty jacket clutched in one hand while his free arm was draped over his eyes. He looked like a maiden out of one of those period pieces, swooning overdramatically as his love interest looks on. “What do you feel like?”

“Eggs.”

“We don’t have any eggs.”

“Steak.”

“I’ll just pluck one out of thin air.” He raises his arm just enough to look at her, arching up a brow expectantly. “Sarcasm, dude, that was sarcasm. I can’t actually do that.”

“Well, why not? I thought witches were supposed to be able to do that kind of stuff.”

“I’ve only known about being a witch for two weeks.” She shrugs, plopping down on the bed next to him and grabbing one of the sacks containing the food. “I got some bananas, some candy, and a couple of Lunchables.”

“What the hell is a Lunchable?”

“It’s got ham, cheese, and crackers.” She pulls one out for him to see, wiggling it a little as he takes in the colorful plastic covering. “You even get a Capri-Sun in this one.” He takes it from her as he sits up, pulling the plastic back and picking up a cracker.

“You expect this to fill me up?”

“I expect you to make due until we get you back to your village.” She takes the juice pouch out and puts the straw in for him, holding it out for him to take. “Try this and tell me what you think.” He takes it hesitantly, bringing it close to his face as he examines it. “It’s a drink, dude.” He arches a brow and she snatches it back from him. Daphne takes a small sip from it before handing it back. “See? It’s juice, not Cyanide.”

“If you say so.” He follows her example and takes a sip from it, struggling with the straw at first before understanding the dynamics. It wasn’t as if it was rocket science, but she supposed they didn’t have straws back in his time. For a moment, he just gives her a mystified stare, smacking his lips a few times as he processed the taste of the juice. “That’s…. That’s actually amazing. I’ve never had a juice that tasted so rich.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna drink the damn thing and not bother me?”

“Yes, but just this once. I’ve got to keep you on your toes, after all.” She snorts, picking out a candy bar while he started in on the little crackers and ham. If he really did take a liking to Lunchables, then their trip would be a lot easier on Daphne’s wallet considering she was nearly broke. She still didn’t understand why Aggie sent her to France of all places, but she’d have to make due until she could figure out how to get home.

She was so absorbed in thoughts of home that she didn’t hear Gaston talking until she was falling off the bed, letting out a quiet _oof_ once she’d hit the ground. With a grimace, she sits up and rubs at her sore shoulder, glaring up at the six foot tall douche nugget.

“What the fuck,” she demands. “You don’t just shove people off beds!”

“You do when they’re not paying attention,” he shoots back with a sneer curling his lip. Right then, with his hair still matted and smudges of dirt covering parts of his face and neck, Daphne could see who the man behind the good looks really was. Gaston wasn’t some Prince in shining armor, he was nasty and grimy with no sympathy for anyone else. To put it mildly, the guy was probably the biggest asshole in the galaxy. “I asked you if we had more of this juice.” He holds up the pouch, shaking it a little to emphasize the fact that it was bone dry.

“Misbehaving little boys don’t get more juice.” His lips part in shock at her statement and Daphne takes a small bit of satisfaction from it. If there was one thing she’d learned over the years it was to stand up for herself. Even if the guy she’s sassing could probably step on her, she’d still give as good as she got. She was hard-headed like that. “Now, if you’ve finished your supper, you can go wash up for the night.”

“And if I decide not to?”

“You’ll be the one that’s pushed off the bed.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Daphne flicks some loose strands of hair out of her face, moving around the bed so that she would be sitting behind him. Gaston doesn’t even bother to look at her, crossing his arms over his broad chest and squaring his shoulders. She could feel the muscles rippling in his back even through the thin tee and flannel he was wearing, the muscles only becoming more pronounced as she attempts to shove him forward. He doesn’t even move an inch, but Daphne does as her knees begin to slide on the duvet.

“What the hell are you made of?”

“Mostly muscles.”

“Yeah, no, I got that bit.” She lets out a grunt, jumping to the floor and grabbing his wrist to try and drag him with her to the bathroom. Just like before, Gaston stays firmly in place, watching on with a faint smile as Daphne slowly slides to the floor. A lock of her hair, curled now that it had begun to dry, falls across her face as she glares up at him. “I don’t like you.”

“I’m not overly fond of you either.”

“Fine, you can just smell like grave dirt all night. See if I care.” She stands and turns her back on him, not letting him see the growing smile. Even after only knowing him for a few short hours, Daphne could tell he was a man obsessed with his appearance and he’d probably fight tooth and nail to keep from looking like some kind of ghoul.

“If I have to smell like this for another minute, I’ll be sick.” He lets out a gusty sigh and she can feel the heat wafting off him as Gaston finally stands up. “Fine, take me to the thing you call a bathroom.” He holds out a hand, allowing Daphne to latch onto his wrist and drag him across the space to their bathroom. It was tiny and made up of white tiles that had seen better days, but the water was warm and the soap was fresh.

“This is the hot water and this is the cold one,” Daphne explains, getting the water to running so that he wouldn’t freeze or burn himself on accident. “And _this_ —“ she pulls up on the small knob, causing the water to spray out of the showerhead “—is what you stand under to get clean. I’m sure you know how soap works.”

“What on earth is that thing?”

“It’s called a shower and you need one, Gaston.” She pats his shoulder sympathetically, remembering how astonished she had been when she was four and learned what a shower was. Back then she’d thought it was some kind of magic because she’d never seen water coming from so high up before aside from rain. She could remember spending close to fifteen minutes just watching the moisture fog up the mirror and create little rainbows where the light cut through it. “I’ll leave you some pajamas on the counter.”

“This is all so strange.” Daphne nods as she takes out the necklace she’d changed his clothes into, focusing hard with her eyes squeezed shut until she felt soft cotton on top of the cold metal. When she opens her eyes again, she’s holding a plain gray tee shirt and a pair of dark gray pajama pants with little Darth Vader heads decorating them. Carefully, still afraid that everything she touches will fall apart at the seams, she sets the clothes down on the counter and starts for the door. “Daphne.” She pauses just outside, hand on the doorknob. “This is real, isn’t it? It’s not some cruel dream that I’ll wake up from and find myself back in that awful blackness, is it?”

“I don’t know, Gaston.” She spares him a glance, taking in the crease between his dark brows and the absolute terror burning in his eyes. She knew that fear, it was all the nights she’d spent curled up under her bed as she thought about her future and every time she was nearly caught stealing food in the past two weeks. The dread was real and it could eat a person alive if they dwelled on it for too long, it was transforming the man in front of her into a trembling little boy.

The worst part of it was that she couldn’t offer comfort for either of them.


	5. Nighttime Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston has nightmares and Daphne's grimoire seems to be possessed.

It was muffled moaning that brought Daphne back into consciousness, the sound thin and almost painful to her ears. She sits up and squints in the dim lighting, trying to find out what was causing the noise and then remembering about her unexpected travel companion. Gaston was moving restlessly in the next bed, hands clenching the duvet hard enough to rip it in places, face half-buried in his pillow as he attempted to fight off whatever dark things were gripping his mind.

“Gaston,” she calls, voice hoarse and soft. The man takes no notice of her, letting out a snarl as he batted at something only he could see. Realizing she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight if she didn’t calm him down, Daphne pushes the tangled covers off and moves to sit on the edge of his bed. “Hey, wake up.” She shakes his shoulder, meaning to pull him out of his nightmare only to have a strong hand clutch at her arm and drag her down onto the bed. “Hey, no!” He flipped them so that he was kneeling over her, one of her hands pinned tightly against the mattress while the other beat at his chest as his free hand came up to squeeze her throat.

“No,” he growls, brown eyes glazed over as he glowers down at her. He looked crazed and beyond pissed off, teeth bared and white in the almost pitch black of their room. Panic seized her in that moment, stomach tying itself up into knots as she felt the air catch in her throat. She couldn’t breathe, could feel the blood rushing to her head and her pulse quicken as she fought harder against him. It wasn’t until one of her blows caught his mouth that he loosened his grip a fraction. “What…?”

“Let—go!” Her voice came out as a desperate croak, face gone almost purple and eyes beginning to bulge as she attempted to scratch him with her blunt nails. Gaston’s eyes, clear now and horrified, widen and he jerks back as though he’d been burned, nearly falling off the bed in his haste to get away from her. She massages her throat leaning up on an elbow so she could look at him.

“I’m… I was- I wasn’t here,” he mumbles, looking down at his hands like they belonged to someone else. “I was back fighting that creature in his castle.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He looks up and holds her gaze, the intensity burning in his eyes reminding Daphne of the strange gleam in Miss Étrange’s eyes right before she magicked Daphne away to France. “I may not be the best man where morals are concerned, but not even I would stoop so low as to lay hands on a child. I apologize, Daphne.”

“Apology accepted.” It wasn’t the first time she’d been hurt while trying to wake someone up from unpleasant nightmares and she seriously doubted it would be the last. They fall into silence for a while, Gaston staring down the rumpled covers beneath him while Daphne made herself more comfortable. She wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while, too jittery now, and she knew Gaston would probably attempt to fight sleep after what he just did. She sits with her back against the headboard and her legs drawn up against her chest, arms wrapped around them with her chin resting on her knees.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened,” Gaston murmurs finally. Daphne wasn’t sure how long they’d been quiet by that point, but it was long enough for her legs to start cramping. Gently, she straightens them out and wiggles her toes, focusing on the chipped polish and the way it looked almost purple in the low light of evening. “Of course, it was a different battle I dreamed of back then, fighting off Portuguese invaders to keep my village safe. LeFou, my closest friend, was always willing to take me in on those nights and stay up with me while I worked through it all.”

“Talking helps.”

“And how would you know?” Daphne shrugs, still staring down at her toes. They were small and fat, darker than most of her complexion from spending a majority of her childhood barefooted. She hated shoes and socks, but it was hard to walk around Nevada without coming across scorpions. “In that other place, in _death_ , you don’t have dreams or even coherent thoughts. In that awful place, there is only a crushing darkness that seems to suck the air right from your lungs.”

She doesn’t say anything as he presses his lips together to stop them from trembling. Tears make his eyes shiny, but she pretends not to notice them as he blinks them away, allowing him that much.

“The beast was bigger than anything I’ve ever encountered before, covered from head to toe with a thick brown fur, sharp horns curling out of its head, and yellow fangs in its mouth. It seemed like it had jumped right out of the darkest pit of Hell, monstrous and howling in its broken castle. Everything there was covered in a blanket of snow, it was unnatural and bitterly cold, muffling the sound of gunshots and screaming.” He takes in a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out through his nose, hands fisting in the blankets. “I was standing on a bridge when I shot it the final time, relishing how it felt to bring down such a monster, and suddenly the bridge wasn’t there anymore to support me. I fell through the air, felt jagged stone and freezing wind tearing me all the way down until I finally hit the ground.”

“What was it like,” Daphne asks, nervous fingers pulling at a loose thread on her shirt. “Was dying scary?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” But she could see from the way the muscles in his jaw was working that he was thinking of it all the same. She shifts on the bed again, curling her legs up underneath her.

“What’s your village like?”

“What?” He was caught off-guard by the question, thoughts derailed for the moment.

“Tell me about how you remember Villeneuve so I can picture it when we get there.” His lips purse and he finally meets her gaze again, seeing the honest curiosity and ignoring the pity. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, Daphne knew, even if he needed it. “What did it smell like in the mornings, how did it sound once everyone was up for the day, gimme the details, man.”

“Are you attempting to distract me?”

“It works better if you pretend I’m not.” He gives a tired laugh, sounding pathetic in the stillness of the room. “C’mon, I won’t even laugh if you accidentally tell me embarrassing childhood stories.” Gaston quirks up a brow at that and she gives him an easy smile. “Well, I won’t laugh too much anyway.”

“Alright, if it means shutting you up.” But his words were lacking their bite and it was hard to take anyone seriously when one leg of their pajama pants was above their knee and the other was perfectly straight. “Villeneuve as I remember it was fairly normal for so small a village; we had our church and our farmland, a few shops for the tailor and cobbler. It was bustling in the early mornings, everyone waking up and doing their shopping for the day before the men took to the fields and the women to cleaning the houses or tending stalls. It always smelled like fresh bread no matter what during the summer months, the scent drifting through the marketplace as the baker attempted to sell his wares.”

“Sounds pretty cool.”

“It certainly helped that everyone loved me.”

“Can’t imagine why, but go on.”

“They loved me because I was a hero in their eyes. I fought in the war, I saved countless lives, and I’m sure you’ve noticed how handsome I am.” He flexes to make his point, biceps bulging against the material of his shirt. “Anyway, I would spend most of my afternoons in my tavern, making sure no free drinks were handed out and the like. LeFou was with me all of the time, he worshipped the ground I walked on like I was a god in human form.”

“Wait, was that really his name?”

“Yes, why?”

“Nothing, it’s just a weird name. His dad didn’t dress in all black and mope about a dead older brother, did he? Because that’s the type of name to suggest a certain shitty type of parent.”

“Julien Lacroix was a fair man, though he did have abysmal taste in clothes.” He shudders and makes a face, making Daphne laugh at him. “He lost all charm the day he punched me.”

“That guy’s definitely one of my heroes now.” He scoffs, sending her a look that suggested she had no taste. “Back to the village, then.”

“The roads were cobblestones and lined with houses, mine being one of the largest, and we had a fountain in the middle of the market so that the women and girls could do the washing. I knew it would be trouble, but it was one of the few things the fellow villagers didn’t listen to me on. Actually, Père Robert was the man that convinced everyone that it was needed.” He rolls his eyes, the sneer back in place at the thought of the priest. “I should’ve known not to take his word for anything considering his affinity for encouraging young women to _read_.”

“What’s wrong with girls reading?”

“It’s not right. If they were meant for such things, then they would be allowed in the schools.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but that’s a thing now. Not only are girls allowed to read, they’re allowed to have jobs and boss people around.”

“That’s awful.”

“Wow, you’re a bigger asshole than I thought you were.” He opened his mouth with a reply on the tip of his tongue, but a quiet _thump_ cut him off. Had it been any other time than the middle of the night, they probably wouldn’t have thought anything about it, but it _was_ the middle of the night and it was coming from inside their room. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” He stands and Daphne does the same, both of them looking around for what had caused the noise. The sound comes again and Daphne jumps, both of them turning to look across the room where she’d put her purse. “It’s coming from over there. Stay here and I’ll look into it.” She grasps the back of his shirt instead, the two of them shuffling across the room and stopping a half a foot away from the shifting form of her bag. It was like there was something inside of it, a snake coiling or a bear cub wriggling, something small and dangerous.

“Gaston?” The fear was coming back, the childhood one that reared its head whenever she realized her foot was hanging off the side of the bed. It whispered about ghosts and boogeymen, things lurking in the dark places just out of view.

“It’s alright, Daphne, just stay back.” He pauses long enough to pry her fingers from his shirt, gently nudging her back. Once he was sure she wasn’t going to follow him again, he edges up to the purse and snatches it up quickly, throwing it hard to the ground. Daphne jumps at the suddenness of his movements and the sound the purse made as it struck the floor, dancing backwards as something flops out of it. It was square-shaped and moving, making strange flapping noises against the wood with the occasional sound of metal. “What in the name of God…?”

“It’s my grimoire.” Gaston watches her as she turns on a nearby lamp, then flicks his gaze back to the journal. It was still moving, getting closer and closer to Daphne even as she watched it. She kneels down and picks it up, barely noticing as Gaston crouches next to her to see what would happen next. Just like always, the lock opens with a _click_ when her finger comes in contact with the metal, the cover flipping open and pages moving quickly.

“Is that normal?”

“Not that I know of.” But she couldn’t look away from it, part of her intrigued and another part yelling at her to throw it away before it can land on a certain page. _What if it’s like that photo album in It? What if Pennywise tries to suck me into the pages and gobble me up like he nearly did Bill?_

It’s the warm touch of Gaston’s hand between her shoulder blades that grounds her, soothing, and she returns the gesture by resting one of her own hands on his knee. He knocks the book out of her hand with a strangled cry, scared of the magic and the way she’d become transfixed on the turning pages. The book makes an almost wet sound when it hits the wood, going still as the pages settle again. Still on her knees, she leans forward and rests her palms on the cold floor, inching closer to it. Gaston grabs the back of her shirt, but he doesn’t pull her back quite yet.

There was a drawing done in mostly black ink taking up one of the pages, a hand-held mirror with a rose captured in its reflection, the petals red as rubies and the stem green as an emerald. A busy village was drawn on the opposite page with its cobblestoned streets, houses with thatched roofs, and people frozen in time as they tended to their wares, the words and date written beneath it curving and looping in a delicate hand. 

_Villeneuve, beyond the Veil, 2017_


	6. A Road Trip From Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gaston learns not to make fun of Daphne's taste in music and Daphne learns Gaston wakes up before Agent Smith.

The sun had barely crested the horizon the next morning when Daphne felt a hand on her shoulder, warm and annoying as it shook her until she cracked one eye open. “What,” she snaps, pushing the hand off of her. Gaston was standing over the bed, still dressed in his PJs, though his long hair was brushed and falling across his shoulders. He has naturally straight hair, Daphne notes jealously. She had to spend hours to get her hair that straight and even then, the slightest hint of moisture would bring the curls back.

“We should get moving,” he says, still standing over her.

“What time is it?”

“Four in the morning, I believe.” She lets out a groan, rolling so that her back was to him and pulling the heavy blanket up over her head.

“I don’t get out of bed before the Matrix has finished loading.” He makes an impatient noise, but he falls silent afterwards. Had she been more awake, she would’ve been suspicious, but she was exhausted and just wanted to dream for a few more hours. She had just been having the best one in a while, relaxing on a beach somewhere in the Caribbean with a glass of rum in one hand and a magazine in the other. She was just about to slip back into a light doze when she felt a hand on her ankle and then a sharp tug had her sliding across the mattress and to the hard floor. “Motherfu—”

“Language, Miss…. I just realized I don’t know your surname.” She glares up at him through her messy hair, contemplating whether or not he’d fall after a good kick to the shin or if he’d just get prissier.

“It’s Moreau.”

“That’s French.”

“You’re astute this morning.” She gets to her feet and pushes her hair off her face, turning back to the bed and beginning to look for her missing ponytail holder. She only had the one left and she’d be damned if she left without it. “What’s _your_ last name?”

“I… I don’t remember.”

“How can you not remember?” She sends him an incredulous look over her shoulder, taking in the way the corner of his mouth turned down in an annoyed frown. That expression was quickly becoming familiar to her and they’d only known each other for six hours.

“I was dead just a few hours ago, so I think I’m entitled to some memory loss.” Daphne rolls her eyes, snatching up the little black band and pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “Are you not even going to brush it?”

“You best lower your expectations if you want me awake this early.” She moves over to her purse, pulling out a simple bracelet and focusing on it as hard as she could until it was resting on top of a black tee and a pair of black and white stripped jeans. The only perk of being a witch that she’s found so far is the ability to travel light. “I’m gonna go change, you just try not to break anything.”

“What are we going to do about breakfast?”

“It can wait until I’m dressed.” She disappears into the bathroom before he could talk back, kicking the door shut behind her. She locks it on reflex, knowing he would never barge in when she could be naked, but years of muscle memory kicking in all the same. She grabs the little Ziploc baggie that contained some of her makeup along with her toothbrush and a tube of Crest. “I’m so not old enough to be dealing with this crazy shit.”

Shaking her head, she makes quick work of brushing her teeth and then applying a light coat of lipstick, the dark berry color making her lips look fuller. She liked the color, but she was running low and wouldn’t be able to splurge until she found the spell to take her back to Nevada. Daphne dresses quickly afterwards, struggling slightly with one sleeve of her black tee before giving up and deciding she could just show off one strap of her bra if it meant getting out of the bathroom.

Once she had her jeans on and buttoned, she grabs her phone from the counter and connects to the free WiFi, pulling up Facebook. The app still showed up a blank white screen, but she still checked every morning with the hope she could send out a message to someone and let them know she was surviving. She couldn’t exactly tell them her guidance counselor was the wicked witch that had sent her on an unexpected trip to France. _Yeah, that wouldn’t blow over well_.

“How long does it take to put on clothes,” Gaston yells through the door, banging his fist against it for emphasis. “Hurry up, I’d like to get into some new clothes as well and we’ve still got a long way to go!”

“Stuff it, you over-privileged windbag,” she snaps, glaring at the door. There’s another bang to the door and then she can hear his irritated grumblings. Daphne rolls her eyes, getting her eye pencil out and drawing a thin line of black on her lower lids. She wasn’t exactly a master of makeup, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do the basics. Satisfied that the lines were mostly even, she lingers a moment longer just to get on Gaston’s nerves.

As his grumbling becomes slightly louder, she gathers all of her junk and leaves the bathroom. Gaston was pacing in front of his bed, his necklace clenched in one hand and his frayed military coat clutched in the other. It might have been a brilliant red once upon a time, but now it had faded to a dull brick color with its torn shoulder and missing buttons along the front.

“It’s about time you got out of there.”

“Keep it up with the attitude and I’ll just make you run around in your jammies for the entire week.” His mouth snaps closed at the threat, looking as though she’d just threatened to disembowel him with a spoon. “Gimme the necklace.” She holds out her free hand, closing her fingers around the cold metal when he hands it over. “What do you feel like today?”

“Breeches—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, big guy.” She closes her eyes, feeling the sparks of magic and the surge of energy being sucked right out of her as she focused. It’s not until she feels warm arms around her that she realized she’d begun to sway dangerously.

“Are you well?”

“I’ll let you know when the room stops spinnin’.” Magic was hard on her and she didn’t know if it was the same with everyone or if she just plain unlucky. “Help me sit, please.” He nods, guiding her over to her bed and lowering her down to it, one hand on her shoulder as she attempted to regain her balance. “I’m not…. I’m not good at this whole magic thing.”

“Obviously.”

“I _am_ good at shaving heads while people are fast asleep.” She sends him a pointed look and tugs on some of his loose hair. “What I’m trying to say is that sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn’t, but either way it causes these weird dizzy spells.” She takes a couple deep breaths before trying again, feeling sick by the time the clothes materialize in her hands.

“No, not more jeans.”

“Suck it up, cupcake.” He makes a sound of annoyance as she falls back on the bed, leaving to get changed in the bathroom. It doesn’t take him as long to get dressed as yesterday, but the random thumps and cussing really brightened her day. After an especially loud thump followed by a long groan, Daphne reluctantly leaves her bed and makes her way across the room. “You alright in there?”

“Mmm, ugh.” She nods once and opens the door, finding him sprawled out in the bathtub with a dazed expression on his face. She covers her mouth with a hand, trying her best not to let the laughter bubbling in her belly actually come out considering he was big enough to step on her. “Shut up,” he mumbles, sitting up with a wince.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were _thinking_.” Daphne presses her lips together, valiantly attempting not to laugh as she offers him a hand. He slaps it away and sits up on his own, his long legs making things difficult as he tries to stand. “Tell anyone about this when we get to Villeneuve and I’ll tell them that you’re a witch.”

“A lot of people are witches these days apparently.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” She shrugs and straightens the dark red vest he was wearing over a white tee. “Speaking of witches, my grimoire has an entire page filled with directions on how to get to your village.”

“Ah yes, that hateful book that moves on its own. What did the writing beneath it say?”

“That your village is beyond the Veil and not actually where I thought it was.” He pauses a moment, using the mirror to look at Daphne. His brows were drawn together and his hands curling over the rim of the sink, knuckles going white.

“As in death?”

“Right? That’s what I said!” It was nice to know she wasn’t alone, though the fact that the person on her side has been dead for two hundred years and is currently sending his reflection a flirtatious smile wasn’t exactly reassuring. “The Veil is the magical side of the world, it has its own little pocket that this word doesn’t touch. I don’t really understand it, but whatever.”

“That makes no sense.”

“ _C'est la vie_.”

“Say what?” He turns to look at her, a crease between his brows now that signaled deepening confusion. She was slowly learning his expressions, but it would take more time before she learned them all. Daphne shakes her head a little, realizing he didn’t actually know what the phrase meant.

“How the fuck did you survive in pre-revolutionary France?” It was one thing for him not to understand the English she had a habit of slipping into, but not understanding his own language? The man must be dumb as a stump. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” Gaston puffs his chest out and runs nimble fingers through his dark hair, looking every bit like a preening peacock.

“You noticed that, did you?”

“You do realize I was implying that you have brawn instead of brains, right? And not in the cool Rick O’Connell way either.”

“I’m handsome, funny, strong, and I’ve been told more than once that my backside can send women into fits, so why should I concern myself with intelligence? If I want to win an argument, I’ll just bend over and wait for the other person to swoon or die of jealousy.”

“You bend over in front of me and I’ll just kick you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Considering the fact that you woke me up before seven, you should be deeply afraid of me.” He gives her a brief once-over, starting at her messy hair and ending at her bare feet, arching his brows when his gaze settles back on her face. “I’m tiny, but I go for blood.”

“Somehow I have trouble believing that.” Daphne smiles up at him, an unsettling one that promised revenge of some kind, already thinking up different ways to make the man in front of her cry like a baby. His hair would be a golden opportunity or she could be petty and just draw a dick on his face when he fell asleep that night. _I do have a green Sharpie that would go great with his complexion_. “Stop smiling like that, it’s disturbing.”

“Oh, this is gonna be a fun trip.”

* * *

It was not, in fact, a fun trip.

At only two hours into the car ride, Gaston was letting out high-pitched whines whenever they made a turn at the speed limit—or under the speed limit, for that matter—and was spending the rest of the time complaining about her taste in music. It was one thing for him to gripe about the occasional country song that came on, but she was half-tempted to get her phone out and just play Womanizer on repeat for the rest of their trip.

“It’s not even real music,” he was saying as they left another village behind them. Daphne tightens her grip on the steering wheel, eyes narrowing as he continues. Another sentence and she might just kill him again. It wouldn’t even be a crime, would it? Were there even any laws about strangling the man you’d just brought back to life? _Victor Frankenstein didn’t kill his monster and look what happened there!_ “And another thing— _Ahh!_ ”

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak unintelligible shrieking,” she says innocently as she takes yet another turn too fast. Gaston isn’t capable of saying anything for a moment, all the color drained from his cheeks and his entire body trembling in fear. She should probably feel bad about it, but the man had talked bad about Britney and that wasn’t right. “Are you done now? No more comments from the clown section?”

“You’re a horrible child.”

“I’m well-aware of that.” She winks and turns up the music, nodding long to the beat as she slowed back down to a reasonable speed. He wasn’t handling the car thing well, but they were making progress. The song fades and then changes to a rock one that Daphne was fond of, the teen singing along with parts.

“Incredible,” Gaston says after a moment, gaining Daphne’s attention.

“What is?”

“This song.” She glances over, catching sight of his foot tapping and his grip becoming looser on the handle above the door. “I actually like this one, it’s got a life to it that those others didn’t.”

“Well, I guess you’re not wrong.” She smiles and turns the music up louder, deciding to make a playlist later of rock songs from the seventies and eighties he might like. If they could agree on music, then the trip would pass a whole lot easier on the both of them. You didn’t have to talk when music was playing, you could just daydream or, in Daphne’s case, sing along horribly.

“ _Going down, party time,_ ” Daphne sings along loudly, drumming her thumbs on the steering wheel,” _my friends are gonna be there, too. I’m on the highway to hell! On the highway to hell! Highway to hell, I’m on the highway to hell! No stop signs, speed limit, nobody’s gonna slow me down_.” She looks over at Gaston again, grin faltering slightly at the way he was looking at her. “What?”

“You’re an awful singer.”

“We can’t all be AC/DC, you know.”

“Yes, but you’re truly terrible. My friend could sing while sick and still be better than you are.”

“LeFou?”

“Yes.”

“The guy that worshipped the ground you walked on and basically said whatever you needed to hear?”

“That’s the one.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just your reflection in a shiny surface? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure no one is capable of loving you that much once they spend five minutes with you.”

“LeFou was a real person.” Gaston rubs a hand over his jaw, suddenly looking haggard and drained. “He’s probably dead now and I never— I never got a chance to apologize to him.” He swallows hard, what color he’d regained in his cheeks leaving again. “He was always by my side yet I left him trapped under a harpsichord so I could go and be a hero. I also used him as a shield against a coat rack intent on breaking my jaw. I was the only person in our village that didn’t completely ignore him, he must have been heartbroken when I died. Probably died soon afterwards since I wasn’t around for him to praise.”

“Did you just say a _coat rack_ tried to break your fucking _jaw?_ ”

“Yes, I also said my friend probably died afterwards. Do try to keep up.”

“You know how I said you were an asshole earlier?”

“Yes. Are you going to apologize for it?”

“No, I wanna upgrade your status to dick.”


	7. Broken Noses and New Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne and Gaston finally make it to Villeneuve, though not everyone reacts the way Gaston had planned.

That second day pretty much became the norm for the pair, waking up at the crack of dawn to get dressed for the day and eat a meager breakfast (still no eggs for Gaston and Daphne was sure he’d go into withdrawals at any moment), bicker over the music until they settled on rock songs from the seventies and eighties they both could agree on, and the small panic attacks that came from Gaston being stuck in a car for over eight hours. They were scary at first, but Daphne was able to calm him down fairly easily by day four.

Once Gaston realized she wouldn’t put up with sexist bullshit, he began asking questions about what had changed since his death. Sure, she couldn’t really answer much since she’d never been the best history student, but she did her best. He found she had more answers about pop culture (he was still trying to figure that out) and random facts about ancient Egypt (why she knew about that culture and not France, he’d probably never understand).

Of course, it didn’t change the fact that there were still awkward lulls of silence during the exhausting hours spent driving. Normally Gaston wouldn’t have trouble filling them, he could talk about himself for days, but it just wasn’t the same without LeFou around to tack on the little details. In fact, Gaston was just beginning to realize that his stories could be quite boring without the other man around to make everything more animated.

“You okay over there,” Daphne asks after fifteen minutes go by without Gaston saying anything. He’d been staring out the window at the blurred scenery, just grasslands and woods as far as the eye could see now that they’d left the small villages and cities behind them the day before.

“I’m fine,” he answers, quieter than usual. He felt old, to tell the truth, the technology surrounding him and the young girl beside him only making him realize how much time has passed in his absence. He also felt a bit sick at his stomach when he realized Daphne was a year older than Belle had been. Sure, Belle was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, but she was a _child_ , and he’d chased after her like she was some kind of prize to be attained while he’d been thirty-eight.

“You don’t seem fine.” He looks over at her, spotting the way she’d bite at the inside of her cheek when she was worried. “You’re not even singing along to Queen.”

“I don’t know the words to this song.” He was getting better, he’d always had a fantastic memory when it came to stories and songs, but Bohemian Rhapsody was proving difficult. “Some of it doesn’t even make sense.” Though he supposed that could be because the song was in English and he only had a vague grasp on that language.

“It’s about a guy telling his mom that he’s sorry for committing murder. He might not see her again and he doesn’t want her to worry about him.” Gaston’s brows meet his hairline at her answer, wondering where it had come from since she was never the best at actually explaining things. Daphne must notice his surprise because she gives a tiny shrug of her shoulders. “My speech teacher had us analyze famous songs and give an explanatory speech over them at the end of the year, this one was mine. Plus, it’s literally explained in the lyrics.”

“I can’t see you being good at a speech class.” It was still strange to consider women attending school, but it was nowhere near as strange as the black box Daphne called a _television_.

“I wasn’t, but it was mandatory. I wasn’t actually any good at school stuff at all, I just squeaked by and kept my head down for the most part. What about you?”

“I did well enough to keep the schoolmaster off my back.” He didn’t much care for learning things unless it was physical, he could shoot a bow and arrow by the time he was seven, but he struggled with words. Belle never seemed to have trouble with that sort of thing, she was often seen reading while walking through the village, deftly avoiding bumping into people or things while Gaston stayed ahead of her and tried to make the bigger obstacles move for her.

“At least that’s one thing we have in common.” There wasn’t much that they shared aside from music and an apparent lack of interest where school was concerned, leading to those dreaded silences. They were getting better, though, by asking questions and just talking about anything and everything. After five days, he’d learned about how ancient Egyptians explained solar eclipses, the proper way to lace his boots, and that, apparently, he was an ‘emotionally stunted potato’ for not crying at the end of Titanic. He wasn’t too sure about that last one, though, considering he was more enraptured by _moving pictures_ than two teenagers falling in love and dying horribly (really, Daphne, _Romeo and Juliet_ was more tragic than all that).

“How much longer until we get to Villeneuve?”

“Hand me my book and we’ll find out.” He turns to grab the purple and black purse from the back floorboard as she pulled off the side of the road, digging the little book out and handing it off to her. He was still amazed by the magical book, fascinated at the lock springing open by a simple touch and the black ink soaking into the parchment pages all by itself to form a map. Daphne had made a comment about Voldemort attempting to take her soul when it first started doing that and Gaston had promptly smacked the book out of her hands. Daphne had brought him back to life, so the least he could do was keep this Voldemort fellow from stealing her soul.

“You’re holding the map upside down, Daphne.”

“I know that.” A red flush darkens her cheeks as she turns the book around the right way and frowns down at the map. After five minutes had gone by without her saying anything, Gaston snatches it out of her hands. “Hey!”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get to my village in this lifetime,” he snaps, holding the book slightly away from his face to see the writing better. He would never say so out loud, but his vision isn’t what it used to be. “Keep going straight for the next mile until you get to a crossroads.” He squints, mumbling under his breath until he understands what the words next to the map say. “Then you turn left and we should be there.”

“This’ll be my first time going beyond the Veil.”

“Really?”

“Yep, I didn’t even know it was a thing until I turned eighteen.” She was still getting used to her magic and had moments where she would pass out from simple spells, but Gaston was always there to make sure she didn’t crack her head open. He didn’t care for her, not really, but she _had_ brought him back to life even if it was an accident. “What about you? You grew up on the magical side of the world.”

“It was….” He trails off for a moment, trying to remember the subtle differences between the two sides. It was hard to explain, the way this air was a bit too harsh for him, the sun too dull, and the way he couldn’t breathe as well here. “It was purer over there,” he settles on. “Easier on the body and almost energizing. It might be because I was younger and not, well, _dead_ , but I felt as though I could do anything and there was no resistance. On this side, I just feel tired and stiff.”

“Have you ever seen faeries?”

“Rarely, they stayed in their own realm and left humans alone for the most part. Villeneuve was just small enough to escape their attention when it came to cruel games and changelings.” He’d met a faerie Prince once, scouting out the village in the hopes of dropping off a halfling that their Queen would have one day. She’d be an important child, born of two worlds with the markings of both, and she would need a good home to be brought up in. As far as Gaston knows, it hadn’t happened during his lifetime.

“I used to hear them sometimes when I went into the woods. I mean, not that there are very many of those in Nevada, but I did my best.” She looked doubtful, probably wondering if she was sane. Gaston wondered the same of himself a lot since being revived. What if this was just some cruel joke being played on him? What if, the moment he sets foot in Villeneuve, he’s transported back to that smothering darkness? He wouldn’t be able to handle that, he’d go mad. “I guess a few faeries are better than Graboids, right?”

“I’ve no idea what those are.”

“Giant worm monsters that hunt by sound.”

“They sound terrifying.”

“Six year old me would agree with you.”

“And the current you?”

“I giggle when I watch the movie now.”

“You have so many problems.” She gives him a toothy grin, completely relaxed in the driver’s seat as they get closer and closer to the village. He wasn’t nearly so calm, though he was good at disguising those nerves beneath the real fear he had of the vehicle. Cars were unnatural and unholy things, running on some sort of liquid magic and sounding like a giant, purring kitten.

Gaston hates cars and kittens equally now.

It didn’t take long to reach the crossroads, Daphne making a left-hand turn and stopping half a mile later. He wasn’t sure why at first, but then he noticed the way the air shimmered in places, like a mirage, silver sparks spouting out in places. They were there, at the edge of the Veil, and Gaston felt the fear tighten his throat. Daphne was biting her cheek again, a small hollow appearing on one side that let him in on the nervous tic.

“W-we should keep going,” he says, shifting his gaze back to the wall of magic. It was a massive thing, stretching all the way to the sky, reflecting the empty road behind them and their car. He could see the way the color in his face had drained, the way Daphne was shifting nervously in her seat, and he suddenly wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. Maybe they should just go somewhere else. Who’s to say that Villeneuve is even still standing? How does he know if his friends and family are still alive? After all, it’s been two hundred and six years since that awful night at the castle. “Then again, maybe God wouldn’t wish this.”

“Fear not old prophecies,” Daphne says, squaring her shoulders. “We defy them. We make our own heaven and our own hell.” 

“That was nice.”

“Thanks, I heard it on a TV show a few months back.” With determination flooding through them both, Daphne presses down on the gas pedal and they inch past the barrier. It was a strange feeling, the hairs on his arms standing on end and a tingling sensation washing over him. It was like the feeling you got when lightning was about to strike nearby, the air felt charged and dangerous. He sucks in a deep breath, letting it out slowly once they’d reached the other side of it.

Beyond the Veil felt exactly as Gaston had remembered it, his chest lighter and breaths coming far easier. He didn’t feel like he was struggling to move anymore, everything coming naturally to his long limbs.

“Holy shit,” Daphne breathes, leaning over the steering wheel as she put the car in park. Gaston follows her gaze, spotting familiar lanes—paved now, the same smooth black of the roads they’d left behind—small cottages, and the busy market. It was all up to modern standards, sure, but it was Villeneuve. Afternoon sunlight filled the village with warmth, covering everything in a pale gold that made the bicycles (Daphne had explained those to him yesterday) gleam where they were resting against houses and stalls.

“Amazing.”

“That’s one word for it.” He tears his gaze away and looks to the teenager on his left, smiling at how excited she looked. He couldn’t help it, her smile seemed to be contagious as she turned it on him. “Can we go explore now or do you need a minute?”

“Who am I to deprive you of the adventure that is Villeneuve on market day?” She lets out an excited laugh, grabbing her purse and jumping out as quickly as she could with Gaston close behind her. He was excited too, glad to see things had stayed primarily the same in his long absence. There may be new people occupying the village, but surely they all grew up on tales of the brave Captain that led the march against the hideous beast. “Is it smart to just leave the car here?”

“Oh yeah, I guess that might not be good.” She moves to stand in front of it, grimoire propped open in one hand while she stretched the other out towards the car. He hasn’t seen her perform much magic since meeting her, just the spell that pulled clothes out of the necklace he wore, but this was much bigger than that. Daphne reads a spell from the book, the words incomprehensible to his ears, her outstretched hand glowing a faint violet color. He’s moving before the spell is finished, footsteps echoing in time with scraping rubber as the car is pushed to the side of the road. Daphne seems fine at first, breathing a little hard as she puts the journal back in her purse.

“Daphne?”

“I’m fine, I’m okay.” She swallows hard, bending at the waist with her hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. Magic took a lot out of her and Gaston had learned to be prepared for the worst. “Just… Remind me not to do that one again for a while.”

“Not a problem.” He rests a hand on her shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze as she straightened again. “Are you good to go?”

“As good as I’ll ever be.” He nods, waiting for some of her color to come back before beginning to walk. Daphne struggled to keep pace with him, but he didn’t slow down as they entered the village proper. Like on the Saturdays he remembered, people crowded the marketplace, toting plastic sacks now instead of baskets, talking in hurried French that brought back old memories.

“Amazing,” he says again, wide-eyed gaze trying to take in all the changes and things that had stayed the same. That’s how he spotted him at first, the chubby man with gorgeous hair near the pastry stall. "LeFou," Gaston calls, happy to recognize one thing even if it was just his old sidekick. LeFou looked almost exactly as Gaston remembered, though he was dressed differently and was standing a little too close to another man. LeFou, upon hearing his name, turned to stare at the other man in shock. Tall and muscular, dressed in modern clothes, he was like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

" _Gaston?"_

"That's right, old friend. Did you miss me?" There was a moment where it seemed like time had frozen, the two men just watching each other. Gaston had that damnably smug smile in place, still so comfortable in his own skin even though he didn't really know what in God's name was going on. LeFou, on the other hand, was feeling old rage bubbling in his stomach, hands shaking as he took a few steps closer to Gaston. "LeFou?" And then the shorter man did something neither of them expected, but was completely justified even if Gaston wouldn’t agree.

LeFou broke Gaston's nose.

**“Fear not old prophecies. We defy them. We make our own heaven and our own hell.”—Vanessa Ives, Penny Dreadful**


	8. Meeting the Villagers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Gaston is busy cowering behind anyone who'll save him from an angry seamstress, Daphne meets some new friends.

Seeing Gaston again had made several emotions come to the surface all at once, none of them pleasant and all of them suffocating. Elation at the fact he’d been brought back as well, relief at seeing his body whole again and unbroken, but mainly a dull rage that pounded in his ears. LeFou was normally even-tempered and prided himself on keeping control, but this was  _Gaston_ , this was the man that had crushed LeFou’s heart under the heel of his boot (and one rib under the weight of a harpsichord).  _This is the man that could’ve broken him_. So LeFou had lashed out before he could process everything, not entirely sure what had happened until his knuckles were throbbing and Gaston was moaning on the ground. He could feel himself trembling, though it eased when he felt long fingers gently wrapped around his wrist, pulling his sore hand closer for inspection. Stanley was able to make people feel at ease no matter the situation, always ready with a joke or a hug, but not this time. This time, he looked ready to break something, though his touch was soft as he prodded at the reddened skin over LeFou’s knuckles.

“Nothing broken,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over them. LeFou loved his husband’s hands, how they were capable of applying makeup with ease and carefully cradling their daughter when she had been small enough. “We need to work on your right hook, Étienne.”

“That was friggin’ awesome.” LeFou looks away from his husband in the direction the voice had come from. It was feminine and soft, belonging to the girl that had followed Gaston over to the stall. She can’t be any older than eighteen, if that, and she was grinning like a kid that had just been locked inside a candy shop. She was short and looked too small for her age, dressed in mostly black apart from the red tank top she had on under a cardigan.

"And who are you," LeFou asks,” his new sidekick?”

"Nah, I'm just the chick that taught him about how great tacos are. I'm Daphne, by the way." She looks down at where Gaston is lying on the ground, blood running from his nose even as he attempted to staunch it. "Think you can punch him again? I just wanted to get it on camera."

"How long have you been following him around?"

"About a week now."

"I'm surprised you haven't punched him yourself yet."

“She has,” Gaston grumbles, sending the teenager an unimpressed look. It wasn’t the sneer LeFou was expecting, it was almost tame compared to some of the expressions LeFou has seen over the years.  _How long has he been back?_  It can’t have been long considering the boots on Gaston’s feet weren’t laced properly and the older man never half-assed anything he knew how to do. “Is that any way to greet your best friend, LeFou?”

“It is when they use you as a shield against a coatrack that knows how to box!” Daphne’s brows shoot up at that, mouth opening as she breathes out a quiet  _oh_. “Did he tell you about that? Let me give you some advice, kid, this guy isn’t anywhere near perfect.”

“Oh, I know,” she assures him,” he’s world’s biggest prick. I let him in on that fact everyday so he doesn’t forget.”

“And he hasn’t tried to hurt you?”

“For God’s sake, when have I ever been physically violent to a child,” Gaston demands, sitting up. LeFou arches a brow, unaware that Stanley was giving Gaston the exact same look over his head. “Okay, it was one time and my little sister was being a complete brat in church. All I did was slap the back of her head to make her stop giggling during mass.”

“You gave the kid a  _concussion!”_

“Now you’re just making words up.” LeFou throws his arms in the air, turning to look at his husband in disbelief. “Who the hell is that?”

“Stanley Beaumont,” Stanley says through clenched teeth.

“Oh right, you’re the one that hung around those two buffoons.” Stanley’s cheeks flush a dark pink in anger, but he keeps himself in check better than LeFou had. Gaston had never abused him, never even really paid him any attention, but that didn’t mean Stanley would forgive him for using LeFou as a footstool or making fun of his two best friends.

“Gaston,” Daphne interjects, stepping between him and the other two,” shut up while you’re behind.” She shoots them an apologetic smile, looking like a stressed mother more than a teenager in that moment. “I’d say sorry, but we both he’s just going to shove his other foot in his mouth in a second.”

“Hey!”

“Quiet!” Gaston’s mouth snaps closed, eyes lowered to his boots as he gets to his feet. It was an amazing thing to witness, LeFou fighting the urge to giggle at the fact a teenaged girl had just caused Gaston to look chastised. When she was sure he’d stay quiet, Daphne turns back to the other two men with a pleasant expression. “You got any decent clothing shops around here? I can only wear the same clothes for so long before they start getting boring.”

“Uh… Yeah,” LeFou says, nodding. “Stanley’s little sister has a shop a little further down the street.”

“She’s makes great clothes,” Stanley adds with a proud smile. Elise Beaumont was one of the two women that Stanley would brag about at any even given opportunity, the other being their daughter, though neither were ready to admit that Suzanna was growing up. It seemed like just yesterday they were cheering about her first steps and now she’s writing college essays. “Come on, I’ll lead the way.” Daphne loops her arm through one of Stanley’s with a grin, the two falling into a familiar conversation of fashion. It wasn’t surprising, Stanley could talk about different trends for hours and obviously Daphne wasn’t much different in that regard. Unfortunately, that left LeFou walking beside Gaston. The other man matches his pace easily, making a conscious effort not to walk faster than LeFou.

“How are you still alive,” Gaston asks after a second.

“Probably the same way you are.”

“A teenaged witch accidentally brought you back instead of an ugly flower?” LeFou stops and looks up at his old friend, trying to see if he was joking; there was an open honesty in his face, no hint of amusement.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, and then she shoved me into this beastly thing called a car.”

“Alright, well, that’s not at all what happened to the rest of us.” He shakes his head and continues walking, hands in the pockets of his jeans. LeFou wasn’t sure how the magic worked, he just knew that he hasn’t aged much in the past eighteen years. As a matter of fact, the only people aging noticeably has been the kids.

“How did it work for you?”

“I remember dying when I was seventy of pneumonia, then I woke up and I was young again. I had two sets of memories, a loving boyfriend, and an entire town full of people wondering what the hell had happened.”

“I only have the memories from two hundred years ago. Things have changed so much since then.”

“That they have. It took me twenty minutes to figure out what a toaster did.”

“What does it do?”

“Makes toast.”

“Remarkable.” LeFou nods, then furrows his brows as he breathes in deep through his nose.

“Why do you smell like fruit?”

“Why don’t you?” He arches his brows and bites back a smile when Gaston begins to blush. “I’ve been having to share Daphne’s shampoo.” The blush only deepens when LeFou lets out a snort of laughter, scowling down at the shorter man that was struggling to stay upright. “It’s not funny, LeFou, it was that or the questionable bar of soap that the inns provided.” LeFou kept laughing, eventually having to lean against the front of one of the shops.

“What’s goin’ on,” Daphne calls from up ahead, looking back at them over her shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” Gaston says at the same time that LeFou gasps out,” He’s using girl’s hair products!”

“You think the idea of that is funny, then you would’ve lost your shit about how excited he got when he found out that they made stuff that smells like pomegranates.”

“Oh, I love that one,” Stanley says with that easy smile of his. “It does wonders for your hair’s volume.”

“And it makes it all shiny.”

“Wonderful, the henchman is bonding with the witch,” Gaston mumbles under his breath, appearing less than pleased with the development. “Next thing you know, she’ll be bonding with  _Belle_.”

“What’s so wrong with that,” Stanley demands. “The Princess is a good woman and she’s generous to all the children in Villeneuve.” She’s also the godmother to Stanley and LeFou’s daughter, spoiling the kid rotten whenever possible. Of course, the Beaumonts got revenge of their own considering Belle and Adam had  _two_  children to spoil and send back home.

“ _Princess?_  She’s a Princess now?”

“Oh, that’s right, you were six feet under when she and Adam got married.” Gaston’s brows furrowed and that crease appeared between them, the expression of confusion so familiar that LeFou had to fight the urge to pinch himself. He wanted to ask how it was possible for Gaston to be standing in front of him after LeFou had seen his broken body half-buried in rubble, but then he’d have to ask the same of Stanley, who had died two years before LeFou after being kicked by a horse.

“Adam is,” LeFou starts, gesturing vaguely towards the woods that had once been held as haunted by the villagers. “Well….”

“That big, hairy guy you shot in the back three times. Very classy, Gaston”

“That was a beast, though, right,” Daphne checks, looking between the three of them. “The way Gaston talked, it was going to rip all of you to shreds and then eat your kids with its morning toast like Oogie Boogie.”

“Turns out he was a cursed Prince that has a thing for strong women that throw snowballs at his head.” Stanley turns his cold gaze back to Gaston and LeFou can hear the audible gulp the taller man makes. LeFou had felt sick when he realized that the beast was a young man and he didn’t doubt that Gaston was trying to understand that realization. “I’m sure he’ll be just  _thrilled_  to see you again.” With a sarcastic smile, Stanley pulls the door to his sister’s shop open and steps inside with the others following behind him.

The shop, much like its owner, was done up in a punk rock theme with a Ramones song playing over the speakers. LeFou smiles when he finds the woman they were looking for, spotting her as she and a teenager come out of the backroom with an armful of clothes. Elise Beaumont was as beautiful as her older brother, though she’d inherited their mother’s blonde hair with the left half of it shaved close to her head. 

“Stanley, tell your kid that I’m right,” Elise demands, only sparing them a fleeting glance as she heads for one of the shelves across the room. Suzanna follows after her, sending the newcomers a curious look. No one really came to Villeneuve, let alone people that looked so out of place.

“About what,” Stanley asks.

“That Edgar Allan Poe is the one that said,’  _Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night’_. She doesn’t believe me.” Stanley arches a brow, meeting Suzanna’s gaze with a knowing smile. “What? What am I missing here?”

“She’s just trying to get on your nerves.”

“It’s kind of my job,” Suzie confirms with a smile. “Who’re your friends, Papa?” Elise finally looks up from arranging the clothes, her happy expression melting away the second those piercing brown eyes land on the tallest man in the room. It was amazing how terrifying such a small person could be, but LeFou had seen her clothesline a football player after he’d made the mistake of picking on Stanley.

“ _Oh_ ,  _fuck_   _no_ ,” Elise growls and LeFou takes a couple quick steps away from Gaston. The older man doesn’t stand a chance as Elise charges forward, tackling him to the ground with what LeFou could only describe as a war cry. “You thick-headed, numb-skulled, pig-faced, son of a bitch!” To say she hated Gaston would probably be the world’s biggest understatement. She brings her fist back and delivers a punch that makes Gaston’s head rock to the side. Honestly, after all the teasing he’d done during their first life, LeFou would be surprised if she didn’t break the other man’s jaw in the end.

“That woman’s officially my favorite person,” Daphne says with a look of awe.

“My aunt’s awesome,” the other teen agrees. “I’m Suzanna by the way.”

“Daphne Moreau.” As Elise is rearranging Gaston’s face, the two teens lean against the counter and start to talk. LeFou watches them for a moment, smiling a little as his daughter works her usual magic. If there was one thing she’d gotten from LeFou, it was her ability to make friends easily. After a couple of minutes, the two teenagers leave the shop while Stanley attempts to pry his sister off Gaston.

No one whoops ass like Elise.

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Daphne says as she and Suzanna walk through the bustling village,” everyone in this town, apart from some of the kids, were alive two hundred years ago and just happened to wake up again with a fresh set of memories?”

“Pretty much,” the blonde nods. “Papa said he was just happy that he could spend another few centuries with Daddy.”

“How come you get the cool people and I get stuck with Young Frankenstein back there?”

“Luck of the draw? I don’t know, but I’m happy things worked out this way because I probably would’ve smothered Gaston with a decorative throw pillow before a week was over.” Daphne nods along with her, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jeans with the chain on her belt slapping softly against her thigh. “My daddy told me stories about him, you know, about how they went to war together and Gaston started to change a little. He got more violent and full of himself and then the war was over and he had no one to take that anger out on.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my dad was the only one that could calm him down, but even that didn’t work the night he died.”

“He talked about one of your dads a lot in his sleep. Sometimes I’d wake up to hear him yelling LeFou’s name, thrashing sound in his bed like he was struggling with something awful.” She shakes her head, staring down at the toes of her black ankle boots and relying on Suzanna to keep her on track. “He only calmed down when I held his hand, rarely woke up, and he’d start to cry until he fell into a deeper sleep.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.” She shrugs and forces a smile as she looks to the other teen. Suzanna was pretty in a more understated way, her blonde hair done up in a high ponytail and her blue eyes bright despite the heavy topic. She seemed nice, one of those people that were up for afternoon cuddles while watching monster movies. She was also a big fan of layering if the cute bralette over a white sweater was anything to go off of. “So, where are we goin’?”

“To my friend’s house. I figured you could do with some socializing after being stuck with Captain Hair for a week.” They round the corner, walking up to a nice house set back from the road. It was two stories, painted a pastel blue color with white shudders and dark gray shingles on the roof, the lawn perfectly manicured with a game of croquet set up off to the left. The whole place was like something out of a  _Better Homes and Gardens_  magazine, made complete by a white picket fence.

“Damn, this is the nicest house I’ve seen so far.”

“The Prince and Princess live here.”

“And they just let you walk inside?”

“They’re my godparents, so they don’t really care as long as I pick up after myself.” She shrugs as if to say it was no big deal despite the fact that most teens could only dream of something like this. “Auntie Belle’s at work right now and Uncle Adam should be helping Dick fix up the stables, so it’ll just be us and their kids.”

“This is crazy. I mean, one minute I’m just struggling to pass algebra and the next I’m hanging out with friggin’ royalty. I won’t have to curtsy, will I?”

“I’m pretty sure Rosie would love that, but no.” She grins and pushes the front door open, stepping inside and waiting on Daphne to join her. The other teen hesitates in the doorway, expecting someone to jump out and drag her away because kids like her didn’t belong near houses like this. “You comin’?”

“Uh, y-yeah, I guess I am.” She steps inside, closing the door behind her and attempting to take everything in. She’d expected marble floors and sweeping staircases like you sometimes saw in fantasy movies, but instead she found polished wood floors, carpeted stairs like in her old house, and tons of family pictures lining the walls. It was surprisingly normal for rich people. “Huh…”

“What?”

“It just isn’t what I expected a Princess’ house to look like.”

“My aunt and uncle like the simpler life and they didn’t want their kids to be total snobs, so they moved here after Belle found out she was pregnant with Mo. I think I’ve only been to the actual castle a couple of times and that was just to make sure it wasn’t falling apart.”  _These people have a fucking castle?_  Jesus, that’s insane. “Come on, follow the sounds of teenage tomfoolery.” Laughing, Suzanna grabs Daphne’s hand and tugs her along up the stairs and down a short hall to the last door on the left. “Mo, you decent in there?”

“Last I checked,” a boy calls back, the sound muffled through the closed door.

“Good, ‘cause I brought a friend.” The door opens a moment later to reveal a tall boy in jeans and a yellow tee. He was handsome like she’d always imagined Princes to be, but he also had a cool septum piercing. He was tall with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes, a faint trace of stubble along his jaw, and a dark tan. In short, he was fucking hot and Daphne might have trouble playing it cool. “You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna let us in, Mo?” He gives a lop-sided grin and steps off to the side to let the others into the bedroom.

“Sorry, I’m barley awake.” He gives a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head and looking like a dazed puppy. “I’m Maurice Dubois.”

“Daphne Moreau,” Daphne replies, giving him a polite smile. She felt a bit awkward in the room, unsure of how to act around genuine royalty. Sure, there had been a popular clique in her old school, but those kids had been pretty cool and liked to play street basketball on the weekends. “Nice room.” And it was, fairly big for one person and holding a twin-sized bed with dark blue blankets, the walls a boring shade of white and covered with movie posters. There’s a desk set against the wall right across from the door, the top of it taken up by a laptop, Ghostbusters cup filled with colored pencils, and a couple of pictures; the bed was tucked up between it and the corner of the room, the left-hand wall boasted a window that looked out over the front yard with a window seat beneath it.

“Thanks, my uncle helped me organize everything when I turned thirteen and decided I was too old for Power Ranger figurines.” There’s a beat of silence and then he was letting out a nervous laugh again. “No idea why I just said that.”

“Relax, Mo,” Suzie says, already reclining on the floor with her back against the bed,” she doesn’t judge.” He arches a brow and Daphne smiles, a little more at ease now that she understood the kid was a geek like her. “Where’s Rose?”

“I’ve got her distracted in her room.” Mo sits in the desk chair, tapping the arms of it absently. “Right now, she’s in her bedroom watching Van Helsing and playing with her Polly Pockets.”

“I’m sure your mom’s going to love that.”

“She’s five, as she keeps reminding me, and Van Helsing doesn’t have anything bad in it aside from some cursing.” Daphne watches the easy way the teens communicate in amusement, wondering if that’s what she and her friends looked like on those lazy Sundays after church where they all gathered in the park. “You can sit down, you know.” He’s smiling in Daphne’s direction, dimples appearing and giving him a boyish charm that had Daphne’s cheeks heating up in a blush.

“Yeah, come on.” Suzie pats the floor beside her, draping an arm around Daphne’s shoulders when she relents. One thing about it, Suzanna wasn’t the shy type once you got through her interrogation. “You’re one of us now.”

“Yeah, the only thing you’re missing is a slightly embarrassing nickname that’s yelled out in very public places.”

“That was  _one time_ , Mo, let it go already!” Mo scoffs and playfully nudges his friend with a Converse-clad foot. “He’s right, though, I do tend to yell nicknames when I’m in a crowded place and can’t find people. Call it a character flaw if you want, but it’s funny as hell to watch your best friend dive behind a fruit stand to avoid people looking at him all because I called him ‘Simba’.”

“I haven’t been called that in years and she just had to bring it up right as I was talking to a cute girl.”

“You still love me.”

“That’s up for debate on some days, Suzie-Q.” Suzanna makes a face and Mo laughs, leaning back in the chair. “So, any nicknames for you or do most people just call you Wednesday?”

“I haven’t heard that one before,” Daphne replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. In small towns, it seemed most people would latch onto the Addams family whenever a goth was around and France was no different. “I was called Ducky for a while, though.”

“How do you get Ducky out of Daphne?”

“I could quote Daffy Duck by the time I was four.”

“That’ll do it,” Suzanna laughs.

They spend the next hour just like that, talking about whatever topic pops into their heads whether it’s embarrassing childhood stories or the weird differences in the French and English languages. Maurice’s little sister joins them at some point, a cute little five year old with dark hair and blue eyes that could make Emperor Palpatine putty in her hands. She was a real smooth talker as well, all charming smiles and sass. By the time the adults came in, Rose Dubois had three teenagers working on her nails with a plan to have a tea party the next afternoon. Daphne liked the little troublemaker, she was like a genderbent version of Greg and Daphne missed him more than she could have thought.

“I see Rosie’s got a new victim,” a woman says from the doorway. Daphne glances up, finding a pretty woman in her early thirties. Her brown hair, the same shade as Maurice and Rose’s, done up in a neat braid, and a kind smile making her brown eyes glow warmly. She looked like the kind of person that would adopt random kids, the perfect mom you sometimes saw on TV.

“Um, hi,” Daphne says, quickly getting to her feet. An old fear came back, making her chest tight as she watched the woman nervously. It would be nothing for this lady to throw her out, say she didn’t want rabble hanging out with her kids. “I-I’m Daphne Moreau.”

“I’m Belle, it’s nice to meet you.” Instead of dragging Daphne out by her hair, Belle pulls her into a brief hug. “Will you be staying for supper?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t be right.” Daphne takes a step back, hands in her pockets again. “I’ve got some money and I figure I can get some food at that tavern back in town.” Belle frowns at that, not looking happy, though Daphne can’t figure out why. “I actually better head out if I wanna get a room for the night.”

“A room? Hold on, sweetie.” She steps out of the room and looks towards the stairs down the hall. “Étienne, I thought you said she was staying at your house tonight!”

“She is,” a man calls back, and Daphne recognized it as LeFou. There’s the sound of footsteps and then the portly man is standing beside Belle, his hands on his hips and a  _don’t you argue with me_  look on his face. “You’re staying with me tonight, kiddo.”

“You don’t even know me, dude,” Daphne points out.

“You helped a stranger back to his home despite the fact that he could’ve been an axe murderer. Either you’re a good kid or you have a death wish.” Daphne smiles at that, the tightness in her chest beginning to ease. It wasn’t often that you met good people like this, but she’s learned to savor the moments when it happened. “Besides, I’m gonna make Gaston sleep in a pup tent and I doubt you’ll wanna miss it.”

“That’s the best plan I’ve heard all day.”


	9. Sleepovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick supper with the Beaumont family and then a restless night for Gaston and Daphne.

Dinner with the Beaumont family is weirdly comfortable after spending the last week watching in disgust as a grown man devoured whatever he could get his grubby hands on. There were jokes and a continuously running conversation about what Stanley jokingly referred to as ‘the good old days’, their first lives back before the teens were born. Back then, Stanley hadn’t been allowed to rock high heels or cute skirts, but he did miss how slow the days had seemed.

“What about you, Ducky,” Suzanna asks. “Any cool magic stories you’d care to share with us?” All eyes land on her and she gives them all a sheepish grin.

“Not really,” she says,” I kinda suck at anything magical. It was pure bad luck that I got stuck with Jolly Green over there.” Gaston makes a disgruntled sound, shifting in his seat with a scowl. He wasn’t happy with any of this, Daphne knew, especially not since he has to share LeFou’s— _Étienne’s_ —attention with another man. He hadn’t really talked much tonight, just poked at the food on his plate and took the occasional bite of stroganoff.

“Oh, come on, there must be _something_ cool you’ve learned to do.”

“Nope.”

“She can fit an entire week’s worth of clothes into a necklace,” Gaston interjects, tapping the arrowhead necklace he wore for emphasis. “Granted, she almost always faints afterwards, but it’s better than nothing.” He meets her gaze from across the table, nodding at her plate with an expectant look.

“I’m not that hungry.”

“You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”

“Not everyone can down sixty eggs a day without a problem,” Étienne states dryly. “Daphne, just eat what you feel like and know that there’s always junk food in the kitchen for midnight snacks.”  

“Most of its homemade,” Stanley puts in. “Étienne is the best baker in all of France.” Étienne’s cheeks turn a dark red, but he keeps his head up and sends his husband an indulgent smile.

“I don’t know about all that, but I’m definitely the best in Villeneuve.”

“Or the world,” Suzanna adds, giving her dad a proud smile. Gaston nods along with them, the look he sends Étienne’s way suggesting first-hand knowledge of a lot more than his baking skills. There was a story there that ran a lot deeper than war buddies, but she’d wait to figure it out until a better time. After all, it was probably rude to ask if Étienne had screwed Gaston right in front of Étienne’s husband and daughter. _Yeah, that wouldn’t go down well_. “You okay over there?”  

“I’m fine,” Daphne says, snapping out of her thoughts.

“I figured you’d be starving after what Gaston told me,” Stanley says, frowning as he eyes Daphne’s mostly full plate. “After I pried my sister off of him, he started complaining about the fact that the two of you mainly ate Lunchables and Hershey bars.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say he complained about the lack of eggs.” Étienne makes a noise deep in his throat, massaging his temples. “What is his deal with those things anyway?” She looks to the man in question, raising her brows. “It’s not healthy, you know.”

“Smooth segue, but you’re not changing the subject.” She slouches in her seat, setting her fork neatly beside her plate on the napkin. She wasn’t the type that liked to complain to nice people, especially ones that were feeding her and letting her stay in their house for free. She grew up knowing that you don’t outright refuse a meal if it’s not to your liking, you just move it around enough to make people think you’d eaten a little.

“I never cared for stroganoff.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because that would be rude.” Gaston snorts loudly, though it quickly morphs into a grunted curse when Daphne’s boot connects with his ankle. “Unlike _some people_ —“ here she sends Gaston a pointed look “—I was taught basic manners and they include not complaining about food.”

“So,” Étienne says,” if you were allergic to something somebody served, you would eat it to avoid being rude?”

“Of course not. Unless it was made by a tall guy named Hannibal,” she quickly adds. “He tends to eat the rude.”  

“Well, we don’t really have that problem here.” Étienne pauses a moment, frowning down at his plate and pushing the peas off to the side. “Come to think of it, I don’t really feel like stroganoff right now either. How about I just go get some McDonald’s and call it good?” A unanimous reply was given, all but Gaston agreeing with the idea and pushing their plates away. The giant seated across from Daphne, however, held onto his plate and began shoveling food into his mouth even faster. “What, no sound effects, you human vacuum?”

“‘m hungry,” he manages around a mouthful of food.

“I so didn’t miss your appetite while you were gone.” The older man doesn’t say anything, continuing to scarf down his meal as Étienne stands and disappears into the kitchen. The Beaumont house was nice and spacious, boasting two bedrooms, a guestroom, an office for Étienne, and another office downstairs that held all of Stanley’s dresses and jewelry. All of his dresses, he had divulged earlier, were made by his baby sister and were much better than any name brand crap the clothing boutique in the next village offered.

“Does he always eat like this,” Suzanna asks, looking on in abject horror.

“He’s like a half-starved dinosaur,” Daphne adds.

“You should’ve seen him tearing into a venison steak,” Stanley says, shaking his head a little. “It was traumatizing. I still can’t eat deer without flashbacks.”

* * *

The house seemed too quiet after everyone had settled in for the night, the ticking of the clock mounted across the room keeping Daphne awake more than the lack of crickets outside. This time of year, she should be curled up with Greg’s bony elbow in her side, sound asleep and drooling as she laid there and listened to the sounds that meant summer was really here. Instead she was tossing and turning in an unfamiliar bed, occasionally reaching out for a hand to hold only to come up with more sheets. In those motels they’d stayed at on the way to Villeneuve, the beds were fairly close and she’d gotten used to having her hand gripped tightly as Gaston fought his way through nightmares.

After trying to find warmth for the fifth time and coming up empty, Daphne kicks the blankets off with an irritated huff. She stands quickly and crosses to the window, leaning against the wall as she stared out at the quiet village. Villeneuve in the daytime seemed almost like synchronized chaos, a dance that would take you from point A to point B without a hitch as long as you knew the steps, which led to it looking abandoned at night if not for the smoke curling out of brick chimneys.

Her gaze falls to the ground below, the grass almost black and glistening with droplets of dew. She could make out the tent that Gaston had set up, his legs sticking out the opening like the Wicked Witch of the East’s beneath Dorothy’s house, missing the ruby slippers to really make the image complete. His feet were bare and he’d rub them together every now and then, more nervous habit than anything.

After another moment, she grabs her pillow and blanket before tip-toeing down the stairs to the patio door in the kitchen. It slid open with only a whisper of sound, allowing Daphne to leave without anyone knowing. Ignoring the damp grass as it clings to her feet, she squats in front of the tent and reaches out a slim finger to poke the sole of Gaston’s foot. His foot jerks away from the unexpected contact and his eyes shoot open, shoulders relaxing again when he spots her.

“Trouble sleeping,” he asks, quirking up a brow. Daphne nods in answer, clutching her pillow tighter against her chest. “I seem to be having that trouble as well. Come on, then.” He pats the ground next to him, his upper half shielded from the grass by the nylon canvas of the tent. Daphne crawls inside without hesitation, covering them both with the heavy quilt.

“I think we spoiled ourselves,” she tells him with a laugh.

“It would appear so.” He was smiling, a soft one that she’s never seen before, and she found herself liking it more than the sarcastic one she was used to. This one was genuine, it wasn’t some kind of shield to keep people from second-guessing him or thinking that he was all smug superiority. Granted, ninety percent of him _was_ smug superiority, but Daphne liked to think the other ten percent was animal trivia and egg recipes. “Goodnight, Daphne.”

“Sweet dreams, Gaston.” They laid like that for another few minutes, listening to the softer sounds of nature and each other’s breathing. It was a comforting sound for Daphne after spending two weeks by herself, hearing the deepening breaths beside her meant she wasn’t all alone. She even liked the little snorts that escaped Gaston from time to time, proof that he wasn’t the perfect specimen that he thought he was.

Smiling, she curls her hand up in his and allows her eyes to close.


	10. Familiar Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne gains a new sidekick of the feline variety and Gaston learns not to make fun of Stanley's fashion sense.

Waking up the next morning was a disorienting affair; first Daphne had to deal with the fact that she was lying on the ground and her left hand felt numb, then she had to address the fact that a black cat was sitting on her chest like her boobs were its personal property. She stares into the gold eyes for a moment, not awake enough for her brain to process the information yet. The cat, plump and shiny, lets out a soft meow and uses a paw to pet at Daphne’s cheek.

“Good morning to you, too,” she mumbles in response, voice hoarse and mouth dry. “Do you mind? I’d like to get up.” As if it really understood her, the cat stepped down in the narrow space between Daphne and Gaston, the latter still snoring as loud as a tornado siren. Wincing at the stiffness in her neck, the teen sits up and prods impatiently at her companion’s side until he snorted himself awake.

“I’m up,” he says loudly, jerking upright and then letting out a painful groan afterwards. “I hope no one’s attacking right now because I think my spine hates me.”

“The ground definitely does.” He rubs at his back, brown eyes squinting around in the pale light of morning. His gaze lands on their visitor and they narrow into slits, one meaty paw coming down to slap the cat only for Daphne to catch his wrist at the last minute. “Hurt that cat and you won’t like the punishment I cook up.”

“You’re awful at magic, remember?”

“I’ll tell Elise and I hear that she beat you like a drum.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me, bitch.” Gaston and Daphne having a staring contest for a moment until Gaston growls low in his throat and wrenches his arm free from her grasp. “C’mon, little guy, let’s go find you some breakfast.”

“I’m bigger than you are.”

“Yeah, I was talking to the cat.” She picks up the fuzz ball for emphasis, smiling as it purrs in contentment against her chest. Its fur was unbelievably soft under her fingers, obviously well looked after by someone in the village. Daphne stands and quickly uses her free hand to grab her pillow and quilt, trying to balance the cat and not drag her quilt over the damp grass as she walks back over to the glass door. Gaston follows after her, scowling when he sees his reflection.

“It pains me to say this, but I don’t think my nose will ever be straight again.” _I’m pretty sure the only straight things in this house are the furniture and maybe Suzanna_. Gaston definitely wasn’t, she could see that in the way she caught him staring at Étienne when he thought no one was watching.

“I’ll fix it after I’ve gotten dressed for the day.” He nods, still pouting as he opens the door and allows her to go inside first. One thing about it, he had retained a few basic manners from his first life. It didn’t seem like anyone else was awake quite yet, allowing Daphne to sneak back to the guest room and make up her bed before changing for the day. As she’s pulling on the black shorts she’d chosen, the cat decides to start making noise again, almost sounding like it was talking. “Chill out, I’ll get you some food and then we can find your owner.”

The cat makes another disgruntled meow, but seems content as it curls up on top of Daphne’s purse. The teen shrugs, pulling a gray tank top over her head and then slipping her feet into a pair of black and pink flats Elise had sent home with Stanley. It’s not until she’s slipping on a couple of rings that the cat begins to make noise again, its head disappearing inside Daphne’s purse.

“Hey,” she scolds, quickly nudging the cat out of the way and picking up her bag. “That’s off limits to mysterious felines, pal.” Gold eyes land on her, intelligent and bright against the coal black fur. “Huh-uh, attitude won’t make me move any faster this morning.”

“Who are you talking to,” Stanley asks, poking his head inside the room. His hair was down today, wavy and a rich brown color that Daphne was jealous of. He was also sporting plum eyeliner and a gorgeous dress to match that suited his figure nicely.

“My new friend.” She points at the cat that had come to sit next to her feet, its tail twitching idly back and forth. “Do you know who it belongs to? It doesn’t have a collar or anything.”

“No one around here owns a black cat.” He, or rather _she_ today, leans in to whisper in the teen’s ear. “They’re a bunch of superstitious old coots, you see.” She pulls back, giving the cat a dazzling smile. “It’s a cute cat, though.”

“I thought so too until it started going through my purse.” Stanley laughs and picks the cat up, giving it a good once over like she was searching for something. “What is it?”

“A girl. Congratulations, you’re now the proud owner of a nosey and impatient stray.” There’s a loud crash down the hall and then Gaston is bursting out of the bathroom, clutching at his foot and hopping up and down. “The real question is whether I was referring to the feline or the idiot that keeps stubbing his toe on the toilet.” Stanley hands the cat back and mutters something as he enters the bathroom, neatly side-stepping Gaston.

“Come here, Jolly Green, and I’ll see what I can do about your nose.” Pouting, Gaston limps down the hall and comes to a stop less than a foot away from her, making Daphne cross her eyes when she looks up at him. “I can’t see jack with you standing this close.”

“You don’t need to see Jack,” he retorts,” you need to see my _nose_.” She shoves the cat into Gaston’s hands, then rises up on her toes in order to reach the crooked nose. It had been set sometime yesterday afternoon, but it was still tender and there were dark bruises that spread from the broken nose and under his eyes.

“I bet you’ve never looked this shitty before. I mean, apart from that time you died.”

“Come now, I’m sure I was a beautiful corpse.”

“Sure, you were probably a real Chuck Charles.”

“I don’t know who that is, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” Daphne gives a breathless little laugh, resting her thumbs on either side of the healing bone. Healing spells were fairly simple as long as the wound wasn’t something complicated, and all she had to do was really focus on the image of bones reforming as bruised flesh became a smooth tan again. It takes two seconds at the most, but she still sways dangerously when it was complete, leaning against the wall as the world around her began to spin. “Is there any spell you can do that doesn’t have you swooning?”

“Not that I’ve found so far.” She takes in a few deep breaths and then risks opening her eyes again, looking up at Gaston and surprised to find his brow creased in worry. “It wasn’t as bad as it usually is. Maybe this little guy is my good luck charm.” She takes the cat back, scratching behind its ears and laughing as it purrs. “Don’t you just love cats?”

“Black cats equal black luck, Daphne.”

“If you want to follow that logic, the internet is sorcery and Nikola Tesla was a witch.” He gives her a blank look that she recognizes from her four years in high school anytime a teacher breeched unfamiliar territory. “You’re being superstitious and dumb is the point I’m trying to make here.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? And I’m hardly being dumb.”

“It’s too early for me to decimate you in this argument, so how ‘bout we go find some food? I’m sure Étienne would love a break from cooking.” He inclines his head in a nod and leads the way downstairs, Daphne following at a slower pace as her energy began to come back to her. The lightheadedness, usually the worse symptom, had vanished completely and the other symptoms were gone by the time she reached the bright kitchen. The walls were painted a cheery yellow to make the room feel larger and brighter, the appliances stainless steel, and an island stood in the center of the room with a pile of notebooks littering the top. A closer look revealed scribbled recipes, the handwriting not quite neat but legible all the same.

“Eggs,” Gaston says, looking around curiously. “Where are the eggs kept, Daphne?”

“Fridge.” She sets the cat down and crosses the room, pulling the refrigerator door open and searching for the ingredients she’d need to make breakfast burritos. The pale green carton of eggs was on the second shelf, the perfect eye-line for Étienne, while the veggies were in a crisper and milk was set on the top shelf. She brings the things over to the counter near the sink, quickly searching out a mixing bowl, whisk, and a skillet.

“Why do you need all those things? I take my eggs runny.”

“Today you’re taking them with tomatoes and wrapped up in a tortilla.” He doesn’t kick up a fuss like she thought he would, just leaning against the counter and watching with a faint interest as she began to whip the eggs. When they were a pale yellow, she grabbed a knife and cutting board, dicing the tomato and some green peppers (most of the peppers ended up in her mouth, though Gaston had promised not to tell anyone).

“You’re fairly good at this. It’s good to know that women are still taught to cook young.”

“I’m gonna ignore the sexist tone and just say that cooking is an invaluable skillset.”

“Everyone should know how to cook,” he quickly amends. “It’s just that it was mainly a woman’s job from my time, the men would cook while out hunting or…. Or during the….” He trails off, white-knuckling the white tile of the counter as his eyes glazed over. Daphne had seen this happen a couple of times, watching without knowing what to do as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat and the vein near his temple throbbed.

Daphne nearly shrieks when someone puts a hand on her shoulder, gently nudging her out of the way so they could stand in front of Gaston. It was Étienne, she saw a second later, still dressed in his pajamas with his curly hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Étienne didn’t hesitate to cup Gaston’s face, squeezing reassuringly and murmuring something in his ear after Gaston bent down on instinct. It seemed almost routine and she supposed Étienne had offered this sort of comfort a lot after they returned from the war that had warped Gaston’s personality.

After a moment, Gaston’s shoulders slouched and he rested his head in the crook of his friend’s neck, Étienne wrapping his arms around Gaston’s broad frame. It seemed too intimate a thing to witness, a dark blush spreading across Daphne’s cheeks as she averts her gaze to the glossy wooden floors. She fidgets with the sleeve of her jacket, a string standing out from the leather and providing ample distraction for the moment.

“Go and sit down at the table,” Étienne says finally,” I’ll help Daphne with breakfast.” Gaston walks past, bare feet sliding softly over the floor as he heads for the dining room. “He has PTSD and the best thing you can do when that happens is help to ground him.” Daphne looks up at his softly spoken words, chewing on her bottom lip as he continues. “It helps if you touch him and just talk nonsense; tell him where he is and what the weather’s like or something he might be looking forward to doing.”

“So it’s like when he has bad dreams,” she asks, remembering the numbing grip he’d had on her hand this morning.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this, Daphne. You’re just a kid and I’m sure that terrified you.”

“I just… I’ve never seen him do that while he was awake.” She takes a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug.

“I’ll make him an appointment with a therapist in town. Well, I say therapist, but it’s really just Beatrice Potts. She runs a diner with her husband and she’s the best listener in town, so she should be of some use after she, you know, punches Gaston for attacking her surrogate son.”

“Yeah, I have a feeling I’m gonna have to heal his nose again before the day is up.”

“Hey, why is a cat snooping around through your purse.” She turns to find the stray with half of its body buried in the discarded bag, its tail swishing back and forth in enjoyment. Daphne pulls her new sidekick out, laughing when she finds its strong teeth sunk into the leather of her grimoire.

“She sort of found me this morning,” Daphne explains,” and she has some kind of obsession with my purse.” Étienne takes the cat while the teen inspects the grimoire, the lock springing open beneath her touch and the pages fluttering just as they had a week ago. Instead of a map, the pages stop at the sketch of a fluffy cat, the details so finely done that it seemed as though the cat would leap off the page. “That’s weird.”

“What is?” Étienne comes to look at the book over her shoulder, gasping as he takes in the individual strands of fur and familiar golden eyes. There were two runes beneath the drawing, but Daphne didn’t have to read them in order to understand why the cat had been trying to get at the journal.

“I think my Familiar just found me.”

“Wait, your _Familiar?_ Like the flying eel from Aladdin that follows Mozenrath around all the time?” Daphne raises her brows, surprised that a grown man would know about a cartoon series from the nineties. “What? Suzie had a slight obsession with Jasmine and she got her fix through the series we found on YouTube.” He shrugs as he pets the cat, dark eyes still focused on the sketch. “I didn’t think stuff like this actually happened in real life.”

“I’ll add it to the list. It can go right under bringing arrogant douchebags back to life in the middle of France.” The cat makes a little noise, one small paw reaching out to swat at the page. “Yeah, I got it, it’s you.” She snaps the grimoire closed and shoves it back into her purse before taking the cat. “So, you got a name?”

“I don’t think cats can talk.”

“I didn’t think zombies could go a week straight without brains either, but imagine my surprise when Gaston just kept demanding breakfast foods.” The pair stare at the cat in suspicion, the feline meeting their stares with its head held high. It didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, its ears twitching.

“What about Salem?”

“Nah, that’s for white girls that only have high school drama to worry about. Although, there’s no reason why we can’t follow the vein and come up with something funny.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I’ll name her Sabrina.” Étienne snorts, ruffling Daphne’s hair and moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

“I’ll finish this up and you can go check on our resident pain in the ass.” Smiling, Daphne shoulders her bag and goes into the dining room. Gaston was sitting at the head of the table, pressing against the tines of a fork in order to make the end of it stand up and letting it fall back down, repeating the process until he notices her.

“You feeling better?”

“I suppose so,” he murmurs, nodding and rubbing his palms against his jeans. Daphne pretended not to see the nervous habit, focusing instead on settling Sabrina in his lap. “And why do you still have the stray?”

“It’s a witchy thing and I want you two to get along.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Gaston scoffs, but he runs his fingers through the cat’s fur all the same, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards in something like a smile as the cat arches its back. “See? She likes you.” Gaston doesn’t say anything, looking up when he hears two sets of footsteps. Suzanna and Stanley come into the dining room side by side, wearing matching lipstick and looking cute. “You guys look great.”

“We know,” Suzanna says, sitting in the chair on Daphne’s right. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Ducky. Oh, Papa, look at her earrings!” Suzanna holds up some of Daphne’s hair to reveal the black earring dangling from her lobe, the end forming the loop of handcuffs. “Where’d you get those?”

“Dollar Store.”

“Seriously,” Stanley asks, sitting down across from the teens. “I’m taking you with me as a good luck charm next time I got to the Dollar Store in the next village. The only jewelry I’ve found there so far has looked handmade and capable of giving people tetanus.” Daphne laughs at that, understanding completely since she’d seen the same types of jewelry in her own town’s store. “So, have you decided what you’re naming the cat?”

“Sabrina.”

“We are not calling the cat Sabrina,” Gaston argues.

“It’s not up for a vote,” Stanley replies, sending the older man a sharp look. “She wants to call it Sabrina, then that’s its name. Personally, I think it’s cute since Salem is way overused when it comes to black cats.” She stretches out a hand to scratch under Sabrina’s chin, flashing a bright smile. Gaston sneers at Stanley and brings the cat up closer to his chest in a possessive gesture.

“Well, you obviously have poor taste if that dress is anything to go by, so you don’t get to pick names.” Everyone falls quiet for a moment, their gazes focused on Stanley as her face turns a dark red. Daphne could see the rage in her eyes, darkening the brown further than normal. Before anyone could blink, Gaston was falling backwards and Stanley was sporting some bruised knuckles.

“You’re just jealous that you can’t pull off this shade of purple.”


	11. Sweet Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suzanna gets some vengeance and Gaston has his first driving lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter a day early to let y'all know updates might be delayed a while. My aunt just had massive back surgery and I volunteered to help her out during the day.

There have been some good days and bad days after Gaston had been brought back to the village by a goth girl with a slight obsession with cardigans (Daphne hoarded them like Uncle Adam hoarded hair products). Most of the time Suzanna could deal with Gaston’s pretentious attitude, but he had insulted her driving and she had a thirst for vengeance. Well, she actually wanted some orange juice, but Gaston had finished the carton off after eating sixty eggs that morning for breakfast.

_Sixty goddamn eggs._

In _one_ sitting.

Needless to say, today was a bad one and the smug smile curling up the corners of Gaston’s mouth was about to be removed. Suzanna just had to figure out how to go about it considering the man could probably lift Mr. Incredible with an ease that would make anyone jealous. It probably came from the food the man practically inhaled throughout the day (he ate so much and so often that half the town wondered if he was smoking weed in his free time). Gaston didn’t do drugs, he was too proud of his body to do that, but he could give Shaggy Rogers a run for his money.

Now, back to the matter at hand. He’d not only insulted Suzanna’s driving, he’d done it from the backseat of her daddy’s car where it was impossible for her to reach him. Not that she would’ve tried to considering how much trouble she’d be in if trying to give Gaston a concussion was the cause of a wreck that took her life. She could handle his snide remarks, she could handle the way he admired himself in anything reflective, but she couldn’t handle his remark about the speed she was driving.

‘ _He complained about my driving, so I threw him out of the car, officer. How was I supposed to know that being thrown out of a vehicle that’s going eighty miles an hour could cause so much damage to his face?’_

But they weren’t in the car anymore and there was no backseat to protect Gaston as the blonde strides right up to him. Standing at an even five feet and two inches, probably weighing a buck sixty-five soaking wet, Suzanna Beaumont was surprisingly terrifying. She knew this and she owned it just like her papa taught her, one hand already digging around the in the purse hanging off her shoulder.

“Ah, Suzanna,” Gaston greets, turning away from Pére Robert to address her. The other man reads the situation quickly and turns to walk away, not wanting to bear witness to what was about to happen. The priest had known Suzanna all her life and so knew when to hunt down one of the adults responsible for her. “Have you seen the others? I was thinking we could dine at Beatrice’s café for lunch. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because,” Suzanna says,” I get to do something I’ve wanted to do since last week.” Gaston was still looking at her in confusion as she pulled out the paperback dictionary from her purse, but the confusion was turned into disbelief when the book’s spine connected with his midsection. The hunter doubles over with a surprised _oof_ , Suzanna not wasting time as she brings the book down on the back of his head. “You complain about my driving again and I’ll get the hardback dictionary my aunt keeps in the shop.

“Yes, ma’am,” he grunts, wincing as he massages the back of his head. “You’re worse than the witch, you know.”

“It’s a gift.” Robert returned a moment later, pointing her out to her parents and Daphne. “Hey, guys!” She stuffs the book back into her purse, grateful to her aunt for making her carry it around all the time.

“What did you do,” her daddy asks. He gives her a look that suggests a week-long grounding without electronics and parties. Suzanna was intimately familiar with this look.

“Carried on a family tradition.” He holds out a hand expectantly and Suzanna gives him the dictionary without another word. There was no point in arguing, her daddy was a master when it came to speaking and he could win any verbal fight with just a few words. Physical, on the other hand, was best left to her papa. “He made fun of my driving earlier.”

“He makes fun of mine all the time,” Daphne adds, scowling up at the man in question. “I doubt you’d be able to do much better.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you don’t even know how to turn a car on.”

“If a pair of _children_ can drive a car, then I can,” he retorts with that snide look of his.

“Then let’s find out,” Stanley says. He’s got a devious glint in his eyes and it doesn’t take Suzanna long to see where his train of thought was headed. “I’ve got a perfectly good truck with a good insurance policy on it, so a wreck would get me enough money to fix it up again. Our good buddy here—“ Stanley’s hand lands on Gaston’s shoulder and he gives it a tight squeeze— “can take a spin around the block.”

“Well, I don’t—”

“I’ll go spread the word and Étienne can pull the truck around for you.” Gaston looked completely lost as Stanley walks off and Daddy moves to get the pick-up truck, running a hand through his hair nervously. He was all arrogance until someone actually challenged him and any pity Suzanna might have felt for him was drowned out by the voice in her head screaming _karma’s finally slapping this bitch_.

“I’ve just put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I?”

“Oh yeah,” Daphne nods.

“And the other one’s halfway there,” Suzanna confirms with a satisfied smile. Daddy is the first one back, spinning the keyring around a finger. He looked just as pleased as the teenagers did, even more so as Gaston attempted to regain his usual smugness. Hoping to change the subject, if only for a moment, Gaston turns to his old friend.

"Why does he keep calling you Étienne," Gaston asks, looking to his friend. The look Daddy sends his way could've frozen water, too cold to belong to the happy man Suzanna had grown up idolizing.

"Because that's my name," the chubby man bites out.

"Since when?"

 _"Since my birth!"_ He sucks in a deep breath to calm himself before meeting Gaston's eyes again. "You've just always called me LeFou and everyone else picked up on it. And anyway, that doesn’t matter right now because you’re about to become karma’s bitch.”

“Who’s karma? I’ll fight him and then drive this car just to prove you wrong.” He puffs his chest out, looking like Superman as he rests his fists against his hips.

“Alright,” Stanley says as he rejoins everyone with the royal family hot on his heels,” who’s ready to see Goliath fall? I know I sure am.”

“I don’t see how hard it can be. If two little girls can drive, then I obviously can.”

“That’s great,” Suzanna says,” but you actually have to get in the car in order to do that.” The smugness seemed to drain out of the man completely at that, his brown eyes landing on the truck Stanley had been gracious enough to let them borrow. Sitting in the passenger’s seat where he could criticize someone else’s driving was one thing, but actually being in control of the metal beast was something else entirely.

Daphne had bet Étienne five bucks that Gaston would pee himself.

“Come on, big guy,” the goth says, patting Gaston’s shoulder. After a bit of nudging (strenuous pushing on behalf of Suzanna and Daphne), Gaston got in the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt, making sure it was secure before rolling down the window to take the keys from Étienne .

“Any advice,” he asks, trying his damnedest to keep the fear out of his voice. Everyone gathered on the sidewalk knew Gaston was terrified, but none of them were going to let him out of this after all the hell he’d put them through. Stanley especially was hoping for something embarrassing to happen after Gaston had criticized his favorite dress a week ago.

“Don’t die.”

“Thank you, Daphne, you’re always so much help.” His sarcasm wasn’t a new thing, but this was the first time his voice shook while he spoke. It was like his first car ride all over again, the big man jumping when he turned the key in the ignition and it turned on. “Shut up, I didn’t jump.” Daddy’s face was slowly turning red as he fought back the urge to laugh outright, his hand clamped over his mouth. “Right, so I just push this peddle then….”

Gaston applied pressure and the car sped off down the street, swerving from side to side and narrowly missing the fountain in the town square where Lumière had been flirting. The tall man squeaked when it happened, falling backwards into the cold water while Plumette began to laugh and Gaston shrieked. In fact, with the window still rolled down, everyone could hear Gaston’s high-pitched screaming as he came barreling around a corner to turn back, the car coming to a screeching halt half on the sidewalk.

There was silence for a moment as everyone rushed over to make sure Gaston was in one piece. His chest was heaving as he took deep breaths, fingers clenching the steering wheel so hard that the leather was creaking, and his eyes were wide and unseeing. Slowly and stiffly, he turned his face towards the window that the two teens were partially leaning in, managing a half-hearted smile for them. He opens his mouth to say something, but all that escapes is a terrified squeak.

Étienne owed Daphne five dollars.


	12. Talk of Faeries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The teens talk about a certain someone's bad driving and find an impossible picture in a book of faeries.

Mo looks up from his book when he hears a familiar giggling, smiling even before he rose from his chair. He’d been put in charge of the library while his maman had gone to see something in the square and now he was curious about what had pulled Belle away from her books. He rounds the corner and pokes his head around one of the bookcases, spotting Suzanna and Daphne as they came into the library proper.

“What’s up with the giggle fest,” he asks, laughing a little himself.

“Gaston had a driving lesson,” Suzanna says, cheeks flushed in merriment. It was always nice to see his cousin in such a good mood, her bright smile contagious. “Let’s just say that he won’t be getting a learner’s permit any time soon.” Mo laughs outright at that, wishing he’d run out after his mother to see the big bad Gaston put in his place by a car.

“Please tell me someone recorded it.”

“Cogsworth might have,” Daphne says, pointing back the way they’d just come. “He said something about having Lumière put it on, and I’m quoting him here, ‘the YouTube’.”  

“Yeah, he’s not so great with technology, but Plumette’s teaching him slowly. He just learned last week that Netflix was a thing.”

“He binge-watched all of Dirk Gently and then demanded we write an email to Max Landis for more seasons,” Suzanna adds. Maurice snorts, nodding when Daphne looks to him in disbelief. “He was just about to click on Orange is the new Black when his computer was confiscated.”

“It’s still locked up in Maman’s office.” The last thing they needed was for the old man to become obsessed with yet another show that took forever to release new episodes. “So, what brings you two here?”

“Auntie Belle said she’d pay me to run story time this afternoon while she ran some errands that she didn’t trust Uncle Adam with.”

“Oh right, the weekly snack food run.” The last time Adam had done that was when Maurice was six, coming back with an entire cartful of chocolate ice cream and forgotten Mo in the candy aisle. “Well, Chip’s got all the little ones herded into the children’s room downstairs and he said something about acting out a scene from The Mummy.” He runs his fingers through his hair, not noticing as the strands stand up a little more from the gel he’d applied that morning.

“I better go before he gets to the war scene.” Suzanna leaves quickly, the soles of her flats making slapping sounds against the pristine wood of the floors. It’s not until he can see Daphne shifting from foot to foot next to him that he realizes they’re alone for the first time since she showed up with Gaston nearly two weeks ago.

“So, uh, do you like to read?”

“Mm, not really,” she admits, fidgeting with the sleeve of her leather jacket. It was a little worn in places and stopped a few inches below her breasts, a dark plum color that suited her. She’d bought it from Elise’s store three days ago and had fallen in love with it. “The words don’t always make sense to me.” She tucks one hand inside her purse and pulls out her grimoire, opening it to show him the runes that covered the page. “These are easier for me.”

“What is it?”

“Witch Speak, though it reads like ancient Greek out loud.”

“Is that the technical name for it?” She lets out a shy huff of laughter, running her slim fingers over a drawing of a rose inside a mirror. It looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on why just yet.

“It’s what I’m calling it anyway.” She puts the book away again, meeting his gaze with a surprisingly soft smile. “What have you been doing while the rest of us were laughing at Gaston’s bad driving?”

“Going through a book I found on the Fair Folk.”

“Ohh, I love faeries. Well, not sweet faeries, but the make-you-dance-until-your-feet-are-stumps kind.”

“They’re the best type. I used to go looking for their rings in the woods, but I couldn’t go far because of the wolves.” At the shocked expression that appears on Daphne’s face, he quickly holds up his hands. “They don’t come into the village if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’ve never seen a wolf before, not in real life.”

“These ones are pretty savage according to the stories I’ve heard. The pack almost ate both of my parents and my grandpa back when my dad was still an eight foot tall fur ball.” Mo scratches at the back of his head, not entirely sure how to act around a girl that wasn’t his cousin. He grew up with all the other kids in the village and viewed most of them as a relative of some form, so dating had never been much of an option. Daphne, on the other hand, wasn’t related to him and she laughed at his puns.

“Maybe one day you can show me around the safer parts of the woods. We don’t have much of ‘em where I’m from and it’d be cool to see all the nature.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool. We could have a picnic or something.” She gives him a bright smile at that, like he was first person to ever invite her out on a picnic. It was ridiculous, Mo was well aware of that fact, but that didn’t stop the butterflies rampaging in his belly.

“So, would you mind some company until Suzanna gets back up here?”

“Uh, I’d love it.” He gestures towards the tables in the far back of the room, leading her to the one tucked neatly in a corner. This was unofficially his table, most people sticking to the ones closer to the stacks so it was easier for them to exchange books. He liked the partial solitude this table afforded because, as his maman had often said, you don’t have to be royalty when you’ve been whisked away in a story.

Mo loved it when his mom read to him, he’d close his eyes and listen for hours as she described beautiful lands far away from Villeneuve; sometimes they’d be just other countries and other times they’d be completely different realms. His favorite was _Dracula_ , loving the romance and strength of the characters just like his maman (and his father, though Adam would never admit to loving ‘mushy books’).

“ _A Practical Guide to Faerie Royalty_ ,” Daphne reads out loud when they sit down. She’d pulled the book over to her so she could read the cover, taking in the painstakingly drawn wings that grew from the back of a sprite. “Feel the need to study in case you _do_ encounter any of the Fair Folk?”

“Something like that, I guess,” he says sheepishly. The truth was that he was hoping the familiar phrases in the book would be easier for him to translate. Being dyslexic in a family that practically devoured books wasn’t easy by any standards, but Mo refused to be cowed. He would read as much as he could before the headache builds behind his eyes because he was stubborn like that.

“Anything interesting in here?” She flips the book open and scans the pages, careful not to disturb the little purple bookmark Rosie had given to him on the last day of pre-school. He notices Daphne squinting a little, like the words were hard to make out even though they should be perfectly clear on the page.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She bites her lip, staring down a moment longer before pointing at a word beneath a picture. “Can you read that one for me?” Mo leans in to see which word she meant, taking a moment to straighten out the letters in his mind before replying with a confidence he didn’t actually feel.

“Seelie.”

“Oh, right.”

“Are you…. Ducky, are you dyslexic?”

“No, I just have issues with written words unless they’re runes. I know enough English words to pass through school, but French ones are still weird to me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re not fumbling with too many phrases anymore.” Her French was still a bit shaky in places and her accent was atrocious, but she was improving the more she was forced to speak it. On top of that, Maurice’s English was improving just as well and he figured his language class next year would be a breeze with a native speaker around.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She flips another page, mainly looking at the pictures and illustrations. The book was only a year older than Mo, the spine barely worn and the pages still a crisp white.

“So, how much did Gaston complain this morning?” It had become a habit of asking about the older man, usually just to laugh at his dramatics. Normally it was something along the lines of not being allowed to handle weapons, but lately he’s been complaining about an awful headache.

“It wasn’t too bad, but I think I’ll take him to the doctor’s office soon.” She pauses a moment, scrunching up her nose. “I might need your help with that one, though.”

“You distract him, I’ll knock him out, and then we’ll wheel him there in my sister’s wagon.”

“You think it’s funny, but I might just take you up on that plan.” They lapse back into silence, not necessarily an uncomfortable one as they glanced over the pictures that occasionally broke up the paragraphs. It was towards the back of the book that caused the silence to shatter, twin gasps of surprise drawn out of the pair. “Tell me that baby looks familiar and that I haven’t lost my marbles.”

“You still got your marbles, Daphne.” The drawing was glued to the page like a few of the others, yellowed at the edges, but not obscuring the image; a little girl, newly born, with a tuft of blonde hair on its head and familiar pointed ears. Mo knew those ears after seeing them nearly every day for the past seventeen years, every curve and dip of pale flesh that made them stand out. “You think Suzie knows about this?”

“Knows about what?” The unexpected voice had Mo shrieking and nearly falling out of his chair, the only thing saving him being Daphne’s tight hold on the back of his tee. Suzanna laughs, perching herself on the edge of the table. Even with a beanie on, Mo could still see the way his cousin’s ears began the upward curve, ending in a dull tip that had led to her being embarrassed by them until she was in seventh grade and watched Lord of the Rings. “You guys are awfully jumpy today.”

“Uh, yeah, well….” He trails off, struggling to come up with anything to keep her from asking too many questions. Much like Étienne, he wasn’t good under pressure and he looks to Daphne for help.

“Still nervous that Gaston might try to drive again,” she lies, hand carefully placed over the picture in the book. “I’d hate to be plowed down while crossing the street because the clown thinks he has to be perfect at everything.”

“That’s right!” A sharp chorus of _shush_ was hissed at his sudden loudness and Mo flinches away from it, sending the patrons an apologetic look. “Um, we were just t-talking about the likelihood of Daphne’s car crashing into the library.”

“If he crashes that car, I’ll lock him in a closet for a month.” Suzanna arches a brow, smiling and suddenly looking even more like the drawing. “I haven’t even had the damn thing for a full two weeks yet.”

“It’s not yours,” Suzie asks.

“Nah, I took it while some guy was shopping.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Yeah, a car was waiting at the curb with a note on it saying it was insured and to have a good time.” She gestures vaguely with her hand as she speaks and it’s not until Suzanna’s eyes flick down that either of them realize the drawing had just been uncovered.

“What’s that?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling the book closer to her so she could see the picture better. “Wow, I guess it’s true that everyone has a doppelganger out there.”

“ _That’s_ all you’ve got to say about it,” Mo demands incredulously. “I mean, I know you’re the chilled out one of all of us here, but you don’t even look freaked out.” Suzanna shrugs, eyes scanning the page with only a small interest. “I’m pretty sure your dads have a picture just like that one hanging up in their living room.”

“They do, it was taken at a Walmart right after they adopted me.” Mo leans back in his chair, shaking his head a little. It was amazing how un-dramatic his cousin could be at times, especially when taking that drawing into consideration. There were only two people in the village that could capture her likeness so well and neither one of them would have glued it in a book about faeries. “Anybody else hungry?”

“I am,” Daphne says, rubbing her belly.

“I thought you two were going after lunch a while ago,” Mo points out.

“We were,” Suzanna nods, flipping the book closed and pushing it back over to him. “That was before I hit Gaston with a dictionary for insulting my driving.” Maurice makes a noise of understanding, realizing how sidetracked Suzie could get when her driving was in question. In all honesty, she wasn’t a bad driver, but he wouldn’t trust her outside of the village.

“Alright, ladies, burgers are on me.”

“I knew there was a reason why you’re my favorite cousin.”

* * *

 

Sleep seemed to evade Suzanna that night, her thoughts a jumbled mess as she stared up at the ceiling. There were glow-in-the-dark stars stuck there from when she was little and could usually count them when she wasn’t able to sleep, but tonight was the exception to even that rule.

She rolls onto her side with an impatient huff, squeezing her eyes closed and trying to think of the most boring things in Villeneuve. _Cows, chickens, long drives to Grandpa’s house, cleaning out the pool, that racist old biddy Cogsworth was married to…._ But, as had become the norm in the past few hours, her thoughts turned back to a well-read book in the library. More specifically, the drawing that had been attached to one of the pages.

_Had someone drawn it and stuck it in there as a joke?_

One of her hands reach up to touch the pointed tip of her ear, feeling self-conscious again for the first time in years. Her papa had given her pep talks through most of her primary school years and her daddy was always boasting about how beautiful her ears were, but there were still moments when she wasn’t so sure they weren’t lying. No one else in the village had ears with such a pronounced point to them, which is why she still hid them with her hair or beanies.

Her parents knew this and did their best to encourage her, they’d tell her stories about how they used be self-conscious about their own bodies just like she was. _It’ll pass_ , Daddy had assured her one night, _I used to hate my stomach, but now I can walk around in swimming trunks at the beach!_ Sure, it was nice to know her parents got over it, but she wasn’t them.

With another huff, she gets up and shoves her feet into a pair of gray cardy boots before creeping out of her bedroom. Her parents’ room was right across the hall, but she didn’t worry about them catching her since she could hear the snoring through the closed door. She still moves on tip toes down the hallway to avoid waking them up, pausing just outside Daphne’s room when she hears talking. Curious, she peers through the crack and finds Gaston lying on the ground with Daphne crouching over him, looking like her papa had when Daddy was still having the awful nightmares.

It makes sense that Gaston is still struggling with his PTSD considering everything he’s gone through. She frowns, making a note to contact a shrink so that Gaston can talk to a professional and Daphne might be able to get some sleep in the near future.

Suzanna creeps down the stairs, grabbing a baby picture off the mantle and her keychain off the hook near the door before leaving the house. She rides her bike to the library, the trip only taking ten minutes since there was no traffic this late at night. She wasn’t worried about having the cops called on her since this would hardly be the first time she’s gone to the library at two in the morning and she doubted it would be the last.

She leans her bike against the stair railing and quickly runs up to the front doors, unlocking it with the spare key Auntie Belle had given her before walking inside. Suzanna doesn’t bother with turning on any lights, knowing her way through the stacks and around tables by heart after walking the same path every Sunday since she started high school. The book she’s looking for is resting on the counter of the information desk where Mo had left it earlier, a homemade bookmark poking up past the pages. She smiles when she spots _Best Bubby_ written on the purple duct tape in Rose’s childish scrawl, the letters capitalized and wobbly. Suzanna had one just like it marking her place in _Hunters of the Dusk_.

She sits down with her back against the heavy counter, opening the book and flipping through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for near the back. The drawing was just as she remembered, the edges curling and yellowed with age, but the heavy charcoal still pristine, forming graceful lines and arches. She holds the picture she’d taken from her house next to the sketch, shaking her head in disbelief.

Blue eyes move rapidly between the two pictures in bewilderment. They matched up, though the baby in the drawing was slightly younger; the same tuft of hair that refused to lay down, the same dimpled smile, and the same ears that looked like something from a Peter Jackson film. It was _her_ in this drawing, but how could that be when she didn’t come to the village before she was six months old? The baby in the drawing had the be closer to a newborn.

“That’s not possible.”  


	13. Dusty Letters and Elvish Script

Étienne woke early that morning as he always did during the weekdays, taking a few moments to lay in bed and watch the sunlight turning the ceiling a flurry of oranges and reds as it passes through the stained-glass chime that Tom had gifted them on their anniversary last year. It’s only when Stanley shifts and throws an arm around Étienne’s waist that the elder of the two forces his eyes completely open.

“Morning,” he says, brushing some of his husband’s long hair off his face. There was a bit of stubble covering Stanley’s cheeks this morning, scratching against the bare skin of Étienne’s shoulder.

“It’s not morning yet,” Stanley grumbles, snuggling closer. “I don’t even hear any chickens.” Étienne laughs softly at that, not wanting to wake the entire house yet. He lived for moments like this, when he could just cuddle with the love of his life and hear the village slowly start coming to life outside his bedroom window.

“How’d you sleep last night?”

“Like the dead.” Stanley pauses a moment, then looks up at Étienne, a stubborn strand of hair hanging in front of the most beautiful brown eyes Étienne has ever seen. They were dark as coffee, but there were small flecks of amber if you caught him in the right lighting. “Okay, so that was a bad description, but you get my meaning.”

“I’m just glad the bed will be easy to make this morning.” Stanley smiles, a slight upturning of full lips, making his face light up. He loved Stanley’s smile, it was always so bright and so full of all the good that made up the taller man.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Étienne stays quiet for a moment, going through his mental planner as he tried to figure everything out. It was a Friday, so his shop would close at noon so he could start the weekend with his family early. “I know I have to take some of my old gowns to the Goodwill in the next village and write up a set list for next Monday’s show.”

“I’m sure Suzie could help you with the music, she loves that sort of stuff.”

“I’m just glad she’s able to act as DJ on the night Claudette can’t.” Claudette, Paulette, and Laurette (affectionately dubbed the ‘Bimbettes’ by the rest of the village) were Stanley’s cousins and the eldest of the three would usually work in the club where Stanley and the other drag queens in the surrounding villages would do their shows on Mondays and Sundays.

“Speaking of our little doe, I suppose I better go check on her.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought something was off last night. She seemed distracted by something.”

“Yeah, it was like her Freshman year term paper all over again except none of us were threatening the printer.” Étienne wiggles his way out from under his husband and stands up, running his fingers through his hair in order to tame it. It annoyed Stanley and Suzanna to no end that his hair was naturally wavy and easy, something that he found endlessly amusing. “I’ll go check on her after I get dressed.”

“And I’ll go back to sleep.” Étienne doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that Stanley has buried himself beneath the comforter, only strands of dark hair visible against the pale green of his pillow. Smiling a little, he moves over to the wardrobe, opening the door to his side and digging around until he found a pair of jeans and a black shirt with _cool dad_ written in white beneath an image of Snoopy. As he’s straightening his shirt, he glances out the window and spots the pup tent that had been set up for Gaston.

“Is Gaston up already?”

“In duck room,” Stanley mumbles, barely heard. He was already mostly asleep and Étienne had to translate the words into human speech.

“Ducky’s room?”

“Is what I said.” Étienne nods, pulling on a pair of socks and quickly brushing his teeth in their private bathroom before shuffling across the hall to his daughter’s room. He cracks the door open enough to poke his head inside, brows twitching when he can’t see her in the bed. He pushes the door completely open and steps inside, trying to spot her among the clothes and knickknacks with no real luck.

“ _Ma bichette_ ,” he tries, getting no answer in return. It wasn’t like her to be out of bed before eight unless she was sick or nervous about something. Still, he’d search the house and library before he let himself panic. He goes downstairs, doing a quick sweep to confirm his daughter wasn’t home before shoving his feet into some work boots and heading outside.

The bike Adam had given her for passing her chemistry class was missing from its spot beside the house, letting Étienne know she’d left of her own accord and hadn’t been kidnapped in the middle of the night. That had been his biggest fear for as long as he’s had Suzie, that someone—usually her biological parents in his nightmares—would show up and take her away, never letting Étienne or Stan see her again.

He walks the short distance to the library, feeling the tension in his shoulders beginning to relax as he spots the bike leaning up against the stair railing. She was here and she probably just had trouble sleeping last night like all those other times. She was so much like Belle in that way, finding comfort in the pages of a book when she had a lot on her mind.

Étienne pushes the front door open, looking around until he spots her sitting in front of the information desk, a book opened on her lap and an old baby picture clutched in one hand. As he gets closer he can hear her deep breaths, sound asleep with her chin resting against her chest. He could watch her sleep for hours, a warm feeling in his chest growing whenever he saw his baby girl doing anything.

“Hey,” he says quietly, gently nudging her shoulder until her eyes flickered open.

“Daddy,” she asks, voice rough from sleep. “What are you doin’ in my room?”

“We’re in the library, hon.” Suzanna looks around, remembering what had brought her there in the middle of the night. “Anything you wanna talk to me about?” She hesitates a moment before handing over the baby picture. He takes it from her, smiling down at the happy baby that was looking up at him from Stanley’s arms.

“Now look at this one.” She hands over the book next, tapping a page that had been taped inside it. Étienne was confused at first, but then he noted the similarities between the pictures and his breath caught in his throat. It was Suzanna, but the drawing was done long before she was given to the Beaumonts. “Did you guys do this?”

“No, I can’t draw to save my life and Stanley’s expertise is limited to clothes.” Only Belle had any real talent with drawing people, but she hadn’t done this one. Étienne flips the book closed on his finger to look at the title, finding it to be a book about faeries. “Baby, this drawing isn’t from our house.”

“Then how—” She cuts herself off, taking a deep breath before continuing again. “What do you know about my birth parents?”

“Not much.” He settles down on the floor beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders and smiling a little when she tucks her head beneath his chin. “Your father is a complete mystery, but your mother was…. Foreign.” Étienne settles in to tell her all he knows, trying his best to remember everything.

_Eighteen years ago, outside Villeneuve_

Rain was falling in heavy sheets as the woman runs through the thick woods, breath showing in small puffs of white. She couldn’t stop yet despite the sharp pain in her side, she had to get her baby to safety before the Elves caught up. She chances a look over her shoulder, spotting the dark shapes darting around behind as they tried to catch up.

“No,” she gasps, clutching the basket tighter against her chest. Up ahead, she could see the stars again and sensed the barrier coming up that surrounded a village. Villeneuve was a special place, guarded by an Enchantress that had been friends with the woman’s mother.

The baby cries softly, gaining its mother’s attention as she glances down. The child was only two weeks old, but she could sense the evil following right on their heels. The woman speeds up in spite of her burning muscles, bursting through the barrier and nearly collapsing in relief when she hears the harsh shrieking behind her as the group of Elves collided with it.

She’d been right, the barrier wouldn’t allow them through. She takes a moment to watch as streaks of golden light shoot through the invisible dome.  The Elves were hissing on the other side, pale skin scorched black in places where they’d hit the shield. They growl at her in their musical language, but she grins in return and spins on her heel to continue further into the village.

It had been modernized over the years, the streets paved over and the buildings remade with brick and mortar. The Enchantress had been gone for several years now, traveling through America to find kids that had been left on the wrong side of the Veil, but the magic had remained as people were returned to life.

She doesn’t stop again until she reaches the orphanage, settling the basket down under the awning that covered the stone porch. It was dry here, her daughter safe from the chilled wind and rain. The baby looks up at her, little hands fisted in the soft cloak that served as a blanket under the short notice.

She tucks a note between the cloak and the basket and then removes the necklace from around her neck and places it beside the note, the gold locket glimmering under the porch light. It was a family heirloom, passed down from Queen to Princess when the child turned eighteen, but she would have to break the rules this time around.

“I love you, Eilonwy,” she says, brushing slim fingers over her daughter’s blonde hair,” and I promise that I will find you again when it’s safe.”

_Present day, inside the library_

“There was a note,” Suzanna asks, pulling away so that she could look up at Étienne.

“Yeah, we put it up in the attic in case you ever got curious about where you came from.” He watches as her eyes drop to her hands, fingers nervously tugging on the hem of her nightshirt. “I have to warn you, though, it’s not in French or English. We tried to read it when we first got you, hoping for some family history or even a name, but we couldn’t understand it.”

“But it was definitely my mother that dropped me off and gave me the necklace?”

“The security camera showed a woman, but the footage wasn’t the greatest. Suzie, I don’t want you getting your hopes up.” She nods, one hand moving up to cover the locket she’s worn for the past eight years. They’d given it to her when she was ten, making sure to tell her its origin, and she only ever took it off when she bathed or went swimming.

“It wouldn’t hurt yours or Papa’s feelings if I wanted to find my birth parents, would it?”

“Of course not, _ma bichette_. You deserve to know about your past and nothing will ever change the fact that your papa and I love you more than anything.” He presses a kiss against the crown of her head, resting his forehead there for a moment. “Come on, I’ll help you hunt through all those musty boxes.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad.” Étienne doesn’t say anything, knowing just how badly disorganized their attic was. They’d been storing things in there since the early nineties when they moved in together and things had only doubled since Suzanna came along. Now, there was probably enough junk in there for them to open their own resale shop with little trouble.

It didn’t take too long for them to get back home, enjoying the early-morning quiet that seemed so rare these days. It was only when summer was here that things seemed to slow down, no more school to worry about or clashing schedules that meant limited family time. In fact, it wasn’t until they reached the house that they heard something that wasn’t birds or themselves.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Daphne was saying, the door opening as the teenager tried to drag Gaston out of the house.

“I’m not being a baby,” Gaston shoots back, digging his heels in to make it difficult to be moved. “I just said I don’t need a physician to tell me I have a few aches.”

“You’ve been having those aches and pains since we got here! You’re going to the freakin’ doctor even if I have to hog-tie your ass and roll you there on Rosie’s wagon!” Étienne and Suzanna step off to the side, watching the goth grab a handful of Gaston’s hair to make him walk with her while little Sabrina brought up the rear. The black cat had become a permanent fixture by Daphne’s side despite the fact that it and Gaston never got along.

“Well,” Étienne says after the trio had disappeared around the corner,” that was something.”

“Kinda glad I missed most of the argument that probably took place,” Suzanna nods. “C’mon, let’s go find the letter.” She tugs on his hand and he allows her to pull him inside the house, pausing only long enough to shut the door behind them. They made it all the way to the second floor before they ran into Stanley, the younger man nursing a cup of coffee as he came out of the bedroom. “Did the drama queens wake you up?”

“The cat did,” Stanley answers, sounding none too pleased. “I was dreaming about that first dance Étienne and I shared and then I was jerked back to reality by a tail thumping against my face repeatedly. Don’t get me wrong, any animal that makes Gaston angry is automatically on my good side, but Sabrina is pushing it.”

“She peed on Gaston’s boots yesterday if that makes you feel any better,” Étienne says, shrugging. “Definitely cheered me up.” Stanley manages a weak smile, leaning back against the wall as he tried to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t the early-rising type, something Suzanna had definitely learned from him since Étienne usually rose with the sun. It seemed all those times Étienne and Gaston had woken early to go hunting before the village came to life had become habit even two hundred years later.

“What are you two up to?”

“We’re gonna go find the letter her birth mom left with her.” The smile slowly turned into a frown as Stanley looked to their daughter, as though looking for some reason for her sudden curiosity. “I’ll explain everything later, all right?”

“If you say so.” He reaches out his free hand to tug playfully on the end of Suzanna’s braid with a smile. “Have you two eaten breakfast yet?”

“Not yet, but we’ll make time for it.”

“ _Later_ ,” Suzie adds quickly, pulling on Étienne’s hand again. “Right now, we’ve got a job to do.” He sends his husband an apologetic look over his shoulder, Stanley offering up a shrug as he heads downstairs. Suzanna pulls on the cord and lowered the attic steps, practically sprinting up them while her father followed at a more sedate pace. “Holy crap.”

“Yeah, it’s not gonna be easy.” He looks around the crowded space, taking in boxes that were clearly marked and others that had been thrown inside to be sorted through at a later date. He was almost certain that there were still boxes in here filled with the old sheet music Étienne had used in college that he’d meant to put in a garage sale five years ago. “Shall we get started?”

“We all need to have a long talk about the dangers of hoarding later.”

“Like you can talk. You basically have a mountain of old clothes at the foot of your bed that you refuse to throw away. Speaking of, go get some clothes on and I’ll work on trying to sort through all this junk.” She nods, running back down the stairs and to her room, the door slamming shut behind her.

He moves towards the back of the attic, deciding that the older stuff might be back there. The boxes back here were beginning to degrade, but the Sharpie was still legible enough that he can make out _that useless junk we’re sentimental about_ written on half of them, meaning that it was knickknacks that he and Stanley couldn’t bring themselves to throw away even though they had no real value.

He continues like that for the next ten minutes, going through boxes in case the letter had been stuck somewhere he wouldn’t expect. He knew that had a few boxes explicitly for Suzanna’s childhood things, but finding said boxes was going to be like finding the side entrance into Narnia.

“Anything interesting up here,” Suzanna asks as she and Stanley come up into the attic. Both were dressed now, though Suzie’s Ravenclaw top and old shorts were better suited for their task than the pink button-down Stanley wore. “Scorpion bracelets, a life-sized cutout of Jude Law?”

“How many times do I have to explain this,” Stanley demands, waving a pop-tart around. “I was a _teenager_ when I bought the cutout and Jude Law’s face is nice to look at!” He lets out a soft sigh, breaking the pop-tart in half and tossing part of it to Étienne and the other to their daughter. Suzie and Étienne share a look before glancing back to Stanley, the taller of the three giving a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and I won’t have the people I care about most wasting away. It’s why I told Gaston the kitchen was off limits to him this morning.”

“How come when I tried to pass breakfast off as pop-tarts last week, you hit me with a cushion,” Étienne asks.

“Because our baby was taking an important test that morning and needed her big brain working perfectly. It was my scrambled eggs and fruit that enabled her to pass that English exam.”

“Or the fact she had some of the answers written on her palm.” Suzie clears her throat loudly when Stanley’s gaze lands on her, quickly scarfing down her half of the pop-tart. “Stan, honey, you can’t give her that look since you did the same thing in school.”

“Yeah, but she’s supposed to be better than I was.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never ditched school to attend a Fleetwood Mac concert,” she says helpfully.

“I suppose that does make me feel more like a responsible parent.”

“Can we start working now? I’d like to have this letter found before our foul-tempered giant returns from the doctor’s office.” The men mutter in agreement, setting to work looking for any boxes with _Suzie_ scribbled on the front. The box they’re looking for ends up being closer to the front and half-hidden by that Jude Law cut-out Stanley had been grumbling about.

“Hey, I found it!” The other two hurry over to him as he brandishes the envelope proudly, Suzanna’s Christening gown in his other hand. “Remember, we put it in here because we said we’d be able to remember where we put this five-hundred dollar dress?”

“Oh yeah,” Étienne murmurs, taking the dress from him. It was faded from time, but the seed pearls were still shiny and the lace was nearly pristine—a gift from Adam and Belle for their goddaughter. “We were so wrong about that.”

“Not for the first time and not for the last.” A discouraging sound had their attention turned to the daughter, the blonde frowning down at the letter she held. The parchment—actual fucking parchment, her mom was as extra as Stanley—was torn near the corner and the vivid blue ink had faded over time, but he could still make out that bizarre language no one in the village could decipher.

“I’ve spent way too much time listening to Mo geek out about Legolas,” she grumbles, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” She holds up the letter as though it was personally responsible for every bad thing to ever happen to her (Étienne is reminded once more of that damnable Freshman year term paper and the printer that tried to screw everything up), brows furrowed irritably. The writing was beautiful and he’s sure the language it’s spoken in is beautiful too, but he’d never seen anything like it before.

“It’s written in friggin’ _Elvish.”_

* * *

"Don't I get three wishes," Gaston was asking as the Beaumonts arrived in the park. Even in the parking lot they could hear his booming voice carrying on the breeze towards them. He and Daphne were seated at one of the benches, freshly out of the doctor’s office if the white prescription bag on the table between them was anything to go off of.

"That'd be a Djinn that you're thinking of," Daphne corrects, waving when she notices the others. Suzanna waves back, glad her new-found friend was as big a geek as her cousin. Mo, their usual go-to language person, was currently out of town helping Tom to load up some building supplies and Ducky was their next best chance.

"Well, then aren't you supposed to be looking over me? Making sure my dreams come true?"

"I'm a witch, not a fairy godmother."

"Then what's the use of having you around?"

"There isn't one, I'm just bored and you make funny faces when you try to work the toaster."

“That’s true,” Suzanna adds with a nod. “My favorite part of mornings now is you screaming like a little girl when the toast pops out.” She drops down next to the goth, her parents sitting on either side of Gaston like boxing him in would actually keep him from offending people. “Thanks again for agreeing to this. I know Elvish isn’t really anyone’s strong suit.”

“No worries, Suzie. I’ll consult my grimoire and you guys force Gaston to take his medicine.” Papa opens his mouth with a delighted gleam in his eyes, Daphne cutting him off with a smile. “Yes, Stan, that means you can put him in a headlock.” Gaston makes a disgruntled sound that quickly turns to outrage when the smaller man loops an arm about his neck to hold him still so that Daddy could force the medicine in. “Wanna go to a different bench?”

“That’d probably be smart.” They head to one across the park, closer to where Daphne’s car was, and settle in for a good few minutes. Daphne worked silently, glancing between her book and the letter, making small notations in places in an attempt to translate the Elvish into Witch Speak. It was pretty cool to watch the process, but the three men proved more entertaining as Gaston was chased over and around playground equipment.

“Got it.” Suzie looks back to her friend in time to see the grimoire being stowed away in Daphne’s purse. “Okay, so from what I can understand, your mom’s actually not Elvish. You see the ink blots where someone had hesitated to write in places?”

“Yeah, I just thought that was from a fountain pen.”

“Nah, that comes from tapping your pen against the paper. She was doing her best, but there are still some mistakes someone just learning the language would make. It’s like when I try to write in French except… Not as bad.” She shakes her head and focuses back on the paper. “The place your mom lives in, going off the words _imbe_ and _Fana_ , is between the real world and the Veil.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I’m pretty sure your mom’s a faerie. Mo read me some stuff about them last night and then yesterday afternoon he was saying that there had been faerie sightings in the woods. The Seelie Court must be somewhere near here if she dropped you off in the village.”

“My mom’s a faerie….” Suzanna trails off for a moment, shell-shocked at the news. There had been no hesitation in Daphne’s voice and it would explain a lot of things, the main one being the pointed tips of her ears that she’d been so self-conscious off before. _I’m part faerie_. Mo would never let her live this one down if it’s actually true.

“Gaston, take the damn medicine or I shave your head in your sleep!”

**There were two separate sets of outfits for this chapter; you can find the Beaumonts' outfits[here](https://www.polyvore.com/13_dusty_letters_elvish_script/set?id=222864825) and Daphne and Gaston's outfits [here](https://www.polyvore.com/13_dusty_letters_elvish_script/set?id=222865151).**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going off a book of Elvish that I've got, imbe and Fana literally translate to between and Veil.


End file.
